The Court of the HalfBlood Prince
by papillon2
Summary: Picking up after HBP. Dark secrets wait to be discovered, and fates lie in the balance. Ch19 The ministry takes action for good or evil?
1. Chapter 1

"This is the way the world ends," Hermione Granger quoted to herself. "Not with a bang, but with a whimper." 

She wondered what future versions of Hogwarts: A History would say about this.

She wondered if there would BE any future versions of Hogwarts: A History.

No, someone was bound to write about it. Even if it was just to say "On this site was once a school, torn down after the Wizard Wars..."

For the moment, the walls still stood. The gray stones echoed with empty mourning. Only the professors remained at Hogwarts now - the professors and one or two stragglers who had no homes to go back to. Stragglers including, for the moment, Hermione Granger.

It wasn't that she had nowhere to go, exactly. She had her family. She had the Burrow. But...

If she went home, it would be impossible for her to keep secret everything that had happened, and was yet to happen. Her parents would panic. They couldn't stop her from doing what she needed to do, of course, but there would be, at best, painful tension, and at worst, horrible screaming fights. Not what she needed right now.

As long as she stayed away from the house, her parents could just assume she was having a great adventure in her wonderful, magical world. She was an adult now, more or less, and they didn't have to worry about her all the time. Someday, perhaps, she would be able to tell them just what had been going on during her school years. But someday was not now.

The Burrow presented a different set of problems. She'd stayed there many times in the past. Even last summer, when everything had been normal, and she and Ron, Harry, and Ginny had all been just pals. Suddenly everything was more awkward. Going home with Ron as his girlfriend, particularly with all the wedding craziness going on... The twins would tease them mercilessly, Molly would be half the time planning their wedding and half the time going crazy making sure nothing 'improper' happened, and Ron would probably be trying to make sure something improper DID happen.

Hermione smiled. Love. It was such a relief, in these dark times, to be able to say those words to herself. I love Ron. Ron loves me. And it wasn't all about snogging. He made a pretty good shoulder to cry on, too, and she'd needed that lately.

As for being improper... well, she didn't want to die a virgin, but neither did she want to be caught by the entire Weasley clan fooling around in a dark closet. With the house as overcrowded as it was for the wedding, they WOULD get caught. It was inevitable.

Honestly, there wasn't enough ROOM at the Burrow for everyone right now! Not with Fleur's family around and all the preparations... the dresses alone seemed to magically double in size every time anyone looked at them! Hermione wasn't the only girl to put her foot down and insist on staying elsewhere. Ginny, too, had opted to give her room to Gabrielle and the Delacour cousins and remain at Hogwarts until the wedding day. Molly would never have let her get away with it if the overcrowding weren't just THAT bad.

_Poor Ginny_, Hermione thought. It wasn't really that she wanted to get away from Fleur, even though that's what her mother would think. Ginny might never LOVE Fleur, but like the rest of the family she was coming to accept her. But being crammed in next to Harry, with her family watching them, would be just as awkward as being with Ron would be for Hermione, even if for totally different reasons.

And so both girls had chosen to remove themselves from the situation, just for now. They would work out all the tangled personal relationships later, when they had a bit more space. Now was not the time for fighting. The wedding had to be a celebration of life and love and joy - a balm for all that had come before. And it would be. They would all see to that.

Until then, Hermione would pace the halls of Hogwarts, as restless as a ghost. She didn't see that much of Ginny at the moment. The redhead seemed inclined to "make herself useful", her cheerful helpfulness providing reassurance to the faculty as they worked to get the castle back in order. The school would be ready for fall term, even if the students would not be.

Hermione found that at the moment, she preferred her own company. There had been a few hours of crying alone in her bed, able to sob loudly for a while without disturbing anyone else. And there had been some time spent just sitting on the grass and staring at the sky, thinking about how wide the world really was, outside this tiny little knot of wizards she lived in. There had been some peace in those thoughts. Watching a bird cirling overhead, or a flower turning to catch the sun, you could believe that everything would be all right again.

A Gryffindor could never be content for long to lie among the flowers and dream of a happier future that would happen all by itself.

Hermione walked the halls, her mind filled not with blossoms and wedding veils, but with the mysteries of the past year. If there was a buried secret to be found, she had to be the one to find it. Harry had always been more about charging into a fight than planning things out, and Ron responded brilliantly in a crisis but could be crippled by nerves (or laziness, when it came to studying) beforehand. She was the diligent one. She was the one who figured things out. And now, alone, with all the resources of Hogwarts at her fingertips and no one to interfere - now was the time to get her brain into gear.

Who was R.A.B.?

Where was the locket?

What and where were the other Horcruxes?

What had Snape's plan really been?

Why did he call himself the Half-Blood Prince, when "half-blood" was an insult among the Death Eaters?

What had become of Draco Malfoy?

How could they defeat Voldemort?

What kind of life could they have, when it was done?

---

_What is going to happen to me now?_

Draco Malfoy sat alone in a dark room, where he had been roughly escorted and abandoned, without his wand. There were no windows, no lights, no ways to mark the passage of time. He guessed that he had been here for between one and two hours, no more - unless his exhausted body had betrayed him and drifted into sleep between some of those dark moments.

_If only I were a real Death Eater. If I had a mask and a robe to hide behind, they wouldn't be able to see..._

At least the tears had stopped coming.

If they'd asked him to **hurt** someone, like Potter The Golden Boy or that obnoxious Mudblood, even the little Weasley girl, he could have done it and enjoyed it. A scare, some broken bones, cutting off a fingertip slowly while they screamed... And they'd spit curses and swear vengeance and try to turn the tables, but that was all part of the game! It was always more fun to push someone who could push back. The greater the challenge, the sweeter the victory.

If they'd asked him to kill Potter... He thought he could have done it. Potter would have fought back. It would have been a triumph to be proud of.

But as he sat here alone in the dark, all he could see was Dumbledore's face. Dumbledore's eyes. Dumbledore refusing to fight. What glory was there in killing an old man who couldn't even resist?

And now he was in the worst position of all. Dumbledore was dead and couldn't protect him - and he'd failed in his task. There was no one left for him on any side.

Thin fists clenched at his sides. "Just kill me now and be done with it!" he yelled, all at once enraged. "Why are you wasting time?"

From the darkness, a familiar voice, silky and sibilant all at once. "Oh, this time hasn't been wasted at all."

Draco whipped his head around frantically, but he could still see nothing. "Prof..." But he wasn't Professor Snape anymore, was he? "Sir?"

Long fingers wrapped tightly around his right bicep. "From now on, Draco, you will call me... Father."

Author's Notes:

Obviously, this is just the beginning! Too many post-HBP stories I've seen start off with a whole pile of immediate revelations - "Of course, RAB stands for X and the locket has to be right over there and Snape was just pretending all along! Now let's all join up and save the day!" But things don't happen that quickly or easily here.

This is just setting the stage - Hermione and Ginny at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry at the Burrow, Malfoy and Snape... somewhere.

And while I am flagging this as Hermione/Snape, I absolutely do not guarantee that it will be a romantic pairing. Just that it will be a story that will largely involve them. They may fall in love, they may kill each other.

Next chapter, we go to Snape's POV, and find out what's going on in that nest of snakes...


	2. A Nest of Snakes

Severus Snape's past was filled with titles. Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor. Potions Master. Head of Slytherin House. Spy. Double agent. Half-Blood Prince. All of them had fallen behind him, save one: Death Eater. Loyal and obedient servant to the Dark Lord Voldemort. 

This hard-lined, dark-eyed face did not look like **anyone's** loyal and obedient servant.

He stalked along the rough stone passageways, black robes billowing behind him, dragging a blond teenager by the arm. Draco Malfoy stumbled beside him, his face a pale frozen grimace.

At last, he reached his destination. "I have brought the boy, Lord."

"Excellent," came a hiss in reply.

Draco's head snapped up. His eyes flickered back and forth, searching for the source of the sound. Then at last, in horrified realisation, blinked shut. There was nothing to see. He was not in a dark room without windows or doors. He was blind.

"Weak!" scolded the familiar voice of his aunt Bellatrix. "Worse than his father! Proud as a peacock, boasting and strutting, but he couldn't rise to it, could he?"

"Shut up!" And that was his mother, her voice strained and raw.

"He failed in his task." The wheeze gave the speaker away as Amycus Carrow. "Frozen and useless."

"On the contrary." The unseen smile that rolled along the smooth words made Snape's voice most frightening of all. "Young Draco was a complete success. He arranged your successful entry into Hogwarts quite on his own, refusing my aid. He set the wards and arranged the scene so that we could deal with the old man without interference. He has remained alive and uncaptured, unlike some of those who were involved in this venture. And, of course, he provided excellent motivation for me to arrive in a timely fashion. He has been very useful indeed."

The grip on Draco's shoulder was released, and the long fingers stroked once through his hair.

"Yes, he did freeze in the crucial moment. But this can be blamed on inexperience and... poor parenting. Which brings us to the matter of my reward."

"So it does," came the snakelike whisper. "And so at last your wish shall be granted. Step forward, Narcissa Malfoy, and bear the price of your Vow."

Draco twitched, but did not cry out. Blind, wandless... any action on his part would only make him seem more of a pitiable fool. At least if they killed his mother now, he would not have to watch.

But the next voice to speak was not the Dark Lord signalling an execution. It was Snape, bolder and more forceful than ever he had been heard before.

"From this day forward, Narcissa, will you accept me as your lord and master, your husband, and afford to me all the respect and obedience due that title?"

A whisper, "I will."

"Will you grant to me rights to all the property held in the name of Malfoy, including your wealth, your home, and your son, to do with as I please?"

"I will."

"And will you swear never speak the name of your former husband, Lucius Malfoy, nor make any attempt to seek him out?"

A brief pause, then a sob. "I so swear."

All around him, Draco could hear the echoes of mocking laughter. Bellatrix, of course, and the poisonous giggles of the Carrows, and deeper booms that he could not identify...

"What's the matter, Cissy?" someone jeered. "Don't you like your new husband?"

"Well, he's hardly a prize, is he?"

"Silence!" And the room instantly responded to the Dark Lord's command. "Severus Snape is a trusted and loyal servant, who has carried out a most demanding task. And he is now head of a respectable pureblooded family of pedigree and wealth. I will hear no more rumors against him." There was a heavy thud, as of an item being struck against the floor. "I give to you Narcissa and Draco of the family Snape."

The long fingers came to rest possessively on Draco's shoulder.

"I thank the Dark Lord for his generosity," replied Snape.

"I... I don't wish to interrupt," came a meek little voice, one that Draco could not immediately place. "But now that you have your new 'family'... well, you won't be needing me any more, will you?"

"Oh, but I beg to differ," drawled Snape. "I need you very close by indeed. As we all know, hesitation can be fatal. And, should we ever have a visit from a very foolish young wizard, what would be more likely to cause hesitation than having to choose who to strike first - the snake who struck down his mentor, or the worm who betrayed his parents?"

---

Hermione Granger sat on the floor of the empty Common Room, with individual sheets of paper representing a giant map of Hogwarts spread out all around her.

"So Ginny and Neville were here," she mused, dropping a sickle next to the Room of Requirement. "Which is where everybody came in, but they didn't get attacked, because Malfoy threw the darkness powder. Why did he do that? Ron, Ginny and Neville alone wouldn't have been enough to fight off all those people... Was Malfoy actually protecting them?"

She considered this, then shook her head. "No, more likely he wanted to make sure his strike force got further inside before the alarm was raised. If they'd only just gotten inside it would have been easier to block them off, although one of her friends might have been killed in the meantime... so maybe it was luckier for them that they couldn't fight."

"Luckier for them, but worse for the castle in general? We had luck potion, but the professors didn't... maybe that's why Snape hexed Professor Flitwick, but not Luna or I..."

She added coins for herself and Luna down in the dungeons. "Profes - Headmistress McGonagall heard the commotion and sent Professor Flitwick to fetch Snape, and he ran past us. Snape stupefied him, but he didn't kill him, and he didn't kill us. I suppose if he were surprised, he might not have had the energy for a Killing Curse ready yet..."

Hermione tapped thoughtfully on a coin. "Why was he surprised? A huge Death Eater attack, and he didn't know it was coming? Dumbledore out of the castle, everybody on alert, the professors patrolling the corridors - and Snape was in his office? Why was he alone?"

"What if... what if Dumbledore wanted him out of the way? Snape had to help Draco because of his oath. But if he didn't know what Draco was up to, then he couldn't possibly help... What if that was the plan? Snape wasn't supposed to find out until it was all over, and then he would be free of the oath? But then when Professor Flitwick burst in on him and told him, he had to go and help Draco... and that made him so angry that he stunned the Professor on the way? If we'd just left him alone, would none of this have happened?"

It was a terrible thought, but that didn't mean it was true - or false. Hermione frantically weighed the evidence. "No, when Harry and Dumbledore got back and saw the Dark Mark, Dumbledore was about to send Harry to fetch Snape. So the plan couldn't have been to keep him out of it. And that also means that he wasn't kept off patrol because Dumbledore didn't trust him. There must have been some other reason he was in his office."

Hermione glanced over all the maps and squiggles and arrows and sighed. "I need more information. I need a way to find out what Snape was up to. I need to be... sneaky. And I'm not very good at that."

But then, maybe a bookworm couldn't solve this problem, but the sister of two devious Weasleys could find a way...

Notes: Okay, so I didn't actually go to Snape's POV. That would require giving too much away! And since poor Draco doesn't know what's going on either, he makes a better subject...

So, Narcissa, Draco, and Wormtail will all be answering to Snape now. Poor Lucius is not Voldemort's favorite person anymore.

Also a word of warning - I have no beta reader. I am frantically cross-checking details against copies of the books and the HP lexicon, but I'm not perfect. When this story is finished, I may have to go back to the beginning and rewrite it to fix any errors.


	3. Things We Don't Mean

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?" the youngest Weasley asked. 

Ginny was currently unwinding Gag-Me-Bondage-TapeTM ("Keep your friends from spilling the beans! Tape their mouths shut! On sale now!") from a large cardboard box decorated with dancing clowns, who bounced all over the surfaces and then came together in giant clown pyramids to spell out WEASLEY'S WIZARD WHEEZES. There seemed to be far too much tape for the size of the box, and it kept trying to climb up her arm to get to her mouth. Hermione had already had to rescue a few strands of long red hair that managed to get tangled in the sticky stuff.

"Because you're tired of repotting deadly nightshade?" Hermione suggested.

Ginny shook her head. "Most of the professors are more in need of someone to have tea and biscuits with than to do their grunt work. And it doesn't help that the house elves keep sniffling all over the trays. Maybe you should go back to trying to liberate them - the fear might cheer them up."

"I hate to say it, I really do, but this is more** important** than the house elves," Hermione sighed. "We need information on what Snape was up to. Well, what better place to look than in his rooms?"

"We already know what he was up to," Ginny pointed out. "Plotting for You-Know-Who."

"But plotting what exactly? The headmaster** trusted** him. If all he wanted was to murder Dumbledore, he could have done it at plenty of other times, surely. He didn't need a big invasion of Death Eaters to do it. It would have been easier to do it himself and cover it up so that we never found out it was him."

"So, what, his plan **wasn't** to kill Dumbledore?" She raised an eyebrow. "I hate to tell you this, Hermione, but he **did** it. Harry wasn't just seeing things."

"No, no, I wasn't saying that at all! I just think there's pieces of the puzzle we're not seeing yet. And that means research. And that means we have to get into his rooms and... well, snoop."

"Why don't you just ask McGonagall if you can go in? Or if they've already searched them?"

"If this doesn't work, I'll have to," Hermione admitted. "But you know if we start asking questions they'll try to tell us not to worry, to let them handle it... And then they'll mess everything up. It should be us, Ginny. If there's something there, we're the ones to find it."

Ginny wrestled off the last of the tape and stuffed it unglamourously under the seat of a wooden chair. "Well, I can't guarantee this will work. But it was the first thing I thought of." From the box, she pulled out a pair of wrapped sweets. "Still in development. Parrot Pastels. Otherwise known as 'the candy that makes them eat your words'. See, the professors' personal rooms are keyed not just to a passphrase, but also to the owner's voice."

"So if I eat these, I can mimic any voice?"

Ginny shook her head. "They'd never let them market that, it would cause a little too much trouble. No, you can only do the voice of the person you're looking at when you eat the candy - we'll have to find a photograph of Snape in the library - and it only lets you say things that you have heard that person say. You can repeat their words back to them, but you can't really impersonate them."

Hermione smiled. "So I can insult you in any number of ways, but I would be completely unable to say 'Fifty points to Gryffindor'."

"Something like that. I haven't tried them myself. They're not done, you know. They could turn your tongue purple or make you lose your voice completely. And you still have to guess Snape's password."

Hermione grabbed the candy from her friend's hand. "And we'll never know until we try. Come on. Let's go find a picture."

---

"_Occulis ab nebulae_."

The vision that formed in Draco's blinking eyes was the scowling face of Severus Snape. He gulped and searched for a suitable form of address. "Sir?"

Snape lowered his wand. "If you choose not to humiliate yourself by addressing me as 'Father' in private, 'Sir' will suffice. However, when you are in the company of our associates, remember your new station."

"Thank you, sir." Draco blinked a few more times, reassuring himself that his eyes were back in working order, then turned to examine his surroundings. They stood in a spacious room of fresh white walls and a wooden floor, with spotlights overhead and a fake fireplace built into one wall. A staircase with a carved wooden banister led up out of sight. Tasteful modern accomodation, by Muggle standards, but a far cry from the familiar elegance of Malfoy Manor. "Where are we?"

"Buckinghamshire. While I now have access to your family estates as well as my own, either location would be an obvious place for searchers to look for us. This house has no ties to any wizarding family." Snape sneered. "Feel free to disinfect the bed before you sleep in it."

Draco turned around. "Where is my mother?"

"She and the rat have gone to purchase items that she feels are necessities for her survival in these 'difficult circumstances'. No doubt she will return with an entire new wardrobe and an assortment of gourmet foods for you."

Draco nodded. "Thank you." It was unexpectedly lenient of the man posing as their new lord and master to allow his mother to shop just to make her feel better. Perhaps everything wouldn't be so bad after all. "You protected me. I am in your debt."

"What I have done was not for your protection, Draco." The older man turned and walked to the wall, black robes whispering in his wake. "It's too late to protect you now."

Draco gulped. "I'm sorry I wouldn't tell you what I was planning. You were right that I needed your help."

"You're sorry? You're SORRY?" And now Snape whirled to face him, wand extended. "There is no such THING as sorry, Draco! Nothing changes the past! Your failures will follow you for the rest of your life. Now GET OUT OF MY SIGHT BEFORE I END IT!"

And Draco fled.

---

"Say something, Hermione. You're making the most HORRIBLE faces," Ginny pleaded. "It didn't boil up your tongue or anything, did it?"

Hermione stopped flapping her lips helplessly and wracked her brain for the memory of any appropriate response spoken by the professor. "Your usual standards, Weasley," she managed at last. The words erupted in a scathing sneer that was Severus Snape to a T.

The redhead shuddered. "Gah. I'm not sure which is scarier - hearing THAT voice, or hearing it coming out of you!"

"Adequate." Which was the closest Hermione could find to 'Okay' in her memory of Snape. "Proceed."

Ginny led the way down into the dungeons of Slytherin. "Um, I suppose we should start with potions ingredients. You've heard him say lots of them, and it would be fitting."

"Tansy."

"Wormwood."

"Ashwinder eggs."

The list went on for a very long time, as Hermione had a good memory for Potions ingredients. When she'd gotten desperate enough to mention stewed slugs, a very un-Snapelike association, Ginny suggested she move on to Dark creatures - he had, after all, been so insistent on obtaining the Defense against the Dark Arts position all those years. They both crossed their fingers before the attempt at "Vampire!", but to no avail.

"I don't think it's going to work," Ginny kicked at the stone wall. "They could have sealed it up since he left. Maybe they've translocated the whole place to the Ministry for examination. Anyway, we should probably get out of here before somebody sees us - or hears you talking and rushes in to hex you."

"I trust you will clean up this mess?" Hermione-Snape quipped.

Ginny laughed. "Sounds like you're ready to give me detention!" Somewhere in the long list of password attempts, she had stopped twitching in fear every time the dark tones of that familiar voice fell from Hermione's lips. "Come on and let me show you what else was in that care package. Best possible cure for mouth-affecting magics."

When they had returned to the comfort of Gryffindor, Hermione found a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky being pressed into her hand. "Loosens the tongue," Ginny grinned, and took a swig. Moments later, she gulped for air, eyes watering. "Loosens the eyeballs too!"

Hermione sipped her drink more cautiously, testing her voice every few minutes. Soon she was able to whisper her own choice of words. "I bet Ron wishes he were here now," she managed quietly.

Ginny snorted. "You think the boys haven't smuggled their own supply into the house? And Mom will probably feel too guilty to stop them getting falling-down drunk at least once." She held up her bottle, admiring the lights dancing inside. "I wish Harry were here. And too drunk to remember that he shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't be?" The room was starting to seem very warm and fuzzy now. At least her voice was clearing up.

"Shouldn't be with **me**. He thinks he's protecting me. He's not, really." Ginny took another sip. "They've gone after me before. They've gone after Dad. And lots of people know we were together. They'll probably come after me again." Sip. "'Sreally **Harry**'s being protected. Cause if I'm **with him**, he'll be distracted by trying to look after me, stead of letting me look after m'self."

"You're good at looking after yourself," Hermione agreed.

"To men and idiots!" She lifted her hand and Hermione cheerily clinked the glass bottles together. "Did you ever want him?"

"Want who?"

"Did you ever fancy Harry?"

"Not really," Hermione frowned and pushed her hair away from her face. Had it always been so wild? It seemed to be everywhere tonight. "I love Harry. Just not like that."

"Like a brother?"

"Not that either." She twisted her hair up behind her head, but had nothing to secure it with, and it sprang back into a cloud as soon as she let go. "When all those people kept saying we were dating and we weren't. It was so stupid! Because what we were doing was so much more **important** than dating. That's how I feel. I don't fancy Harry because he's got other things to do."

"It's because he's going to die," Ginny's eyes welled up with tears. "You don't want to love him, because you know he's going to die. He's going to fight Voldemort and die, and you don't want to be the one in love with him..." The bottle fell forgotten as she put her hands over her face and sobbed.

"Don't cry!" Hermione crawled over to put her arms around her friend. "No, no, he's not going to die... he can't die, he's **Harry**! He always wins!"

Ginny lay her head against Hermione's shoulder, her tears soaking through. "We never thought Dumbledore could die either... We're all going to die."

"Don't say things like that! You're not going to die. You're not!"

And somehow, with the shaking form in her arms, the red hair so like and so unlike Ron's, with the warmth and the whisky, Hermione found herself kissing Ginny. She tasted of fire and flowers, deep and sweet. The two girls clung together, mouths frantically seeking love and comfort. It felt warm and soft and painful and... wrong.

They broke apart, gasping for air. "I'm sorry," Hermione started. "I didn't mean..."

"F'get it," Ginny mumbled, her cheeks a brilliant pink. "Drunk. It happens."

"We should... we should get some sleep," Hermione suggested.

"Water first," said the voice of experience. "Water helps your head. Get th'elves."

And it was only much later, as Hermione lay half-awake in her bed, that it occurred to her. There was another way for her to learn about the Half-Blood Prince.

_Harry's book..._

_--- _

Author's Note: Surprised you again? No, I am NOT shipping Hermione/Ginny here. The above was exactly what they claimed it was - two tired and emotional people reacting under stress. People do unusual things when they're emotionally worked up. This is relevant...

As for Draco's eyes, the blindness was never meant to be permanent. Just to make him more scared and disoriented during last chapter, and also to represent how he has been, in some ways, blind to what he was getting himself into. Poor Draco is still not having a very good time.


	4. Motherly Love

The rooms upstairs resembled the rooms downstairs - clean, plain floors of light wood and white walls, with minimum furnishing. Yet a patina of wizardly elegance was creeping slowly across the bland Muggle surfaces. Wormtail was adjusting hangings of old lace in the hallway, while Narcissa Malfoy transfigured pine dressers into a more acceptable mahogany shade before arranging jewelry and toiletries atop them. 

Draco could only stand, arms folded, and pretend to supervise.

At last his mother ushered him into his new room - still depressingly plain and bare, but at least looking as if a wizard had once visited it.

"We can burn those," she waved a hand at the school robes he still wore, stained slightly from recent misadventures. "I have found you some robes that will suffice for our incognito period. Arms out, now."

Draco raised his arms and allowed his mother to remove his outer clothing. Her hands traced over his frame, murmuring small charms over the bruises she found. It all put him in mind of being a very small child, when his mother rather than the elves had tended to most of his needs... when he'd managed to crash a broom he shouldn't have been old enough to fly into a stone wall and banged his head horribly...

At last she completed her appraisal and laid a hand against his slicked-back hair. "You'll be growing it out now," she commented. "Would you prefer to lengthen it quickly, or pull it back? You're young yet."

Draco looked at his reflection in the unmoving Muggle mirror and tried to imagine himself with a long fall of hair like his father's. Pale sunken face, circles under his eyes, colorless hair falling to mid-chest... he would look like some sort of barrow-wight. "Pulled back."

"I will find you suitable accessories later, then," Narcissa nodded. She adjusted the fit of the new dark-blue robes; a distinguished color, but the fabric left much to be desired. "Well. Almost a proper gentleman, at least."

"Almost?" he quipped, raising his head to look down his nose at the mirror. There. That looked better.

Her hand came to rest on the damned spot on his left arm. "If it weren't for this..."

Draco jerked away. "What else could I do, Mother? The Dark Lord would have abandoned us! He hasn't done **anything** to get Father free! If I won his favor, reminded him how valuable a Malfoy could be..."

"Did you ever think that he was **safer where he was**?" Narcissa hissed in his ear. "Where he was, the Dark Lord could not reach him! Once things calmed down, we could have arranged for his release. Whoever wins this struggle will wish for our gracious support to maintain the peace. But then you put yourself into the Dark Lord's hands... now look at us! Your life in danger. Barred from our own home. And completely unable to help your father or even speak his name..."

"You..." Draco blinked. "That was a Vow, wasn't it? You're really sworn to Snape?"

"It was a fair price to pay for your life."

"But he... if he can compel you..." Draco sought her hand. "Has he hurt you, Mother? Has he demanded that you... do things?"

Narcissa scoffed. "Severus Snape barely knows what a woman is, Draco. I am not in danger. This is about politics, not about sex, and certainly not about love. Come." She led him to the bed and sat primly on the edge. "Remember, we went to school together. He was a few years younger than I, but he was known to the family. Regulus, especially, nearly idolised him and talked about him constantly." She smiled coldly. "Anything to irritate his brother. And which of them was the bigger fool is hard to say. Of course, at the time, we didn't know the unfortunate truth about Snape's bloodline..."

Draco's mouth fell open. "Snape? SNAPE is a Mu-"

"Don't be foolish," his mother snapped. "It was obvious to anyone that he had at least one wizarding parent. He knew things he could not have learned from books. He was a very clever hexer, even as a first-year. The Gryffindor traitor was lucky to get off the train with only one set of clothing ruined."

Draco nodded blankly. "But... not a pureblood?"

"It's not common knowledge," Narcissa admitted. "The name was unknown, of course, but with his features and mannerisms, we'd always assumed he came from a foreign family. His language was exquisitely precise, you see. A trained accent."

"How did you find out, then?"

"Cousin Regulus was concerned that his friend had no marriage prospects - had never, as he said, expressed **any** interest in the Slytherin women. He requested my expertise in arranging a suitable match, and therefore I did some research into the family background and discovered the truth."

"Were they - lovers?"

Narcissa frowned. "Not to my knowledge. However, it's not your concern if they were. Severus is the lord of the family now. You should give him your respect and support - not dig around for the skeletons of his past. We know his background. The Dark Lord knows his background. No one else needs to. Perhaps he never had any interest in marrying because he did not want to taint a good line, but he has a pureblooded heir now - you."

Draco scowled. "I am in his debt. And if he is not taking advantage of you, then I am grateful to him for that as well. But he is not my father, and I intend to see my family restored. What are the terms of these Vows? How can they be ended?"

His mother spoke slowly and carefully. "An Unbreakable Vow cannot be** broken** by the person who swore it. The power of the vow is bound between two people by the magic of a third party, whose force sustains it. The vow can be dissolved when the person it is sworn to tells the Binder to release it, or... if the Binder is no longer able to contribute magical energy to enforcing the Vow."

"If the Binder is dead," Draco guessed. "Who is the Binder of your vow?"

Narcissa was silent.

"**Who is it**, mother? Whose life is holding our family captive?"

The older woman only closed her eyes.

Draco stared at her. "You can't answer," he said flatly. "Well, it was someone at the gathering, I can tell that much." He held up a hand. "No, don't say anything, I'll change the subject. You do the best that you can, I understand that. And I will do what I have to as well."

---

The cheerful light of day glowing against the bright red decor of Gryffindor Commons was just slightly more than Hermione's head wanted to deal with. Other than squinting at that lurid color, though, she didn't feel too terrible. Either the stories of hangovers were exaggerated, or Ginny's suggestion of drinking water had been correct.

She wondered if she should apologise to Ginny again, but the redhead had seemed to take the whole thing in stride. It wasn't like they'd done anything really horrible, anyway. It was just a kiss.

_Just_ a kiss?

That one kiss had been nothing like kissing Ron, and not just because Ginny was a girl. She and Ron were usually, well, fooling around. Having fun. It was always a little shy and awkward, even if it was nice. A lot nicer than being mauled by Cormac McLaggen! Kissing Ron, or even thinking about kissing Ron, made her grin and blush, but it didn't drive her wild with passion. Last night, between the tears and the whisky, she'd felt a terrible fire inside her, a pain in her chest and an unfathomable need to DO something - even if she didn't know what.

And yet, even with all that, it had felt wrong. Because she didn't love Ginny.

Hermione supposed she should be proud that even drunk and overwrought and swept away on a sea of passion, her heart was strong enough to say no.

So why did she feel sad?

Maybe **that** was the hangover. Inexplicable moodiness.

Anyway, time was wasting.

Hermione tossed a handful of powder into the fire and called up the Burrow. The heads of Molly Weasley and Fleur appeared shortly, jammed together. "Yes?" Molly started. "Have you got the - Oh! Hermione! How are you, dear?" Beside her, Fleur's face flickered and vanished - but awkwardly, as if finding room to step away from the fireplace hadn't been easy.

"Hi, Mrs Weasley," Hermione smiled, trying not to let the green flames make her feel ill. "Can you put Harry on? I need to ask him a question."

"Of course, dear! Just a moment."

More awkward rearranging.

"Hi, Hermione!" Harry popped into focus at last. He looked much better than the last time she'd seen him. Crowding must be good for him. "You're not too lonely over there, are you?"

"No, I've got lots of books to catch up on," Hermione reassured him. "Actually, that's part of why I'm calling. Can you tell me where you hid Snape's old Potions book?"

Some of the worry returned to his face. "Why do you want that?"

"I'm just trying to gather more information - about him, about everything he was up to. Now that we know who the book belongs to, I thought I might be able to find some clues in it about the past. There's still so much we don't know, Harry!" Her voice warmed to the subject.

He shook his head. "I don't think it will do any good, but... well, I guess **you** aren't going to go around casting strange spells you find in that book." He grimaced, then gave directions to the hiding place in the Room of Requirement. "Just be **careful** in there. Take Ginny with you. The Vanishing Cabinet the Death Eaters used was in there too, and who knows what else might have ended up in that dump."

"Don't worry," Hermione smiled. "I'm not going to get into any trouble."

"'Course not!" she could hear Ron's voice echoing distantly through the Floo connection. "It's HERMIONE! She never does anything stupid!"

Harry laughed and waved goodbye.

Hermione looked around at the leftover mess from last night. _No, I never do anything stupid..._

---

"Sir?" Draco worked his way carefully down the stairs. The Muggle basement was still too clean and bright for a proper wizardly dungeon, but at least the walls here were rough and gray instead of pure, shining white. Shelves were crammed with books and bottles, and old wooden tables scattered around the room.

"Take a seat, Draco." Snape was standing before a small cauldron, casually stirring the contents.

The young blond obediently seated himself in a tacky plastic folding chair without even wrinkling his nose at it. "How may I help?"

"That depends on how far you trust me, Draco. You didn't, in the past." Snape scowled. "I have a great many experiments that have been disrupted by my sudden move. I could use an... assistant. Someone **competent** at Potions, and someone willing to take directions and ask **no questions**. I would rather not involve an outsider in this work at all, but I am behind schedule."

"What about Wormtail, sir?"

"He does not qualify." A twisted smile. "Feel free to treat the rat as you would one of your house elves, only draw the line at actually beheading him. The Dark Lord does not wish for lives to be taken without his express permission. Pain, however, can be dispensed freely." He slammed a hand down on the wooden surface. "Which stands for you as well, if you fail me. If you do not think you can take orders from me in this laboratory, **without questions**, then return to your mother now."

"You are the head of my household," Draco affirmed. "I will do as you ask."

What could Snape be brewing down here that was such a secret, anyway? Poisons? Mind-weakeners? Blood magic? It didn't matter. He needed Snape's trust in order to find a way to unravel the Vow. If his willing assistance was valuable enough, he might have something to bargain with. If not, he would still have a better chance of gaining the information he would need to break the bond himself.

"Very well." Snape handed over a roll of parchment. "Prepare these ingredients as requested, then go and reassure your mother that I have not Petrified you. She will need comforting for a time, Draco. I leave that responsibility to you." He returned to his cauldron. "Women do not react well to the loss of a husband - even a poor one."


	5. Fields of Asphodel

_A bedroom at night. The air is full of smoke. Flames, some orange, some green, lick at the walls. Bodies lie motionless on the floor. An infant in a crib whimpers unattended._

_A man, robed in black, stands frozen at the scene. A hand claws away the mask that covers his features, lets it clatter to the floor beside the dead woman._

_"They're all dead."_

_One ponderous step brings him forward, allowing his dark eyes to fall upon the face of the child._

_"They died... because of **you**."_

_He raises his wand and points it at the baby. A sneer twists his face as he begins to cast._

---

"We need a place to hide stuff," Hermione spoke aloud, trying to focus her mind on the description that Harry had given her. Was there really only one cosmic junk pile that the Room of Requirement could link to? She hoped she didn't end up in the stacks of the British Library or something...

"Come on!" Ginny yanked the door open. "Let's get this over with..."

Her voice trailed off as she took in the room beyond. It was a massive, cavernous space - a cavern whose stalagmites were teetering piles of old books, broken desks, melted cauldrons, and twisted, half-transfigured objects. Far overhead, dark shapes clustered near the ceiling, too distant to make out. Perhaps they were objects that had been lost while subject to Levitation Charms, or perhaps the room's own space had simply warped a few unwanted piles to the ceiling to make more room. A one-winged snitch lurched brokenly among the shadows.

"Wow," Ginny said at last. She nudged an old robe with her foot, flipping it up to display a lone sock and a pair of rhinestone earrings. "I never thought I'd see somewhere more cluttered than Dad's shed. Half of me wants to try and organise it all, and the rest wants to just dive in and search for buried treasure."

"Once we've found what we're looking for, you can dig around in here all you like," Hermione said absently. Harry's instructions, which had seemed so clear before, were much less helpful when faced with such a jumble. An object that stuck out to his eyes might easily pass unnoticed by hers with so many things to look at. She stepped forward cautiously. Stuffed troll, yes, turn right, a few steps more... hrm. A pile of freshly-splintered wood, half buried under other collapsed items. "Does this look like the remains of a Vanishing Cabinet to you?"

Ginny pondered it. "Looks like. I guess they smashed it to be sure no one else got in this way. Probably faster than tracking down the other half."

"Okay." Hermione turned left and scanned all the cupboards she could see, finally spotting one that had an ugly mockery of a shop mannequin's head, complete with tiara, atop it. "Bingo!"

"What's bingo?"

"It just means I've had good luck," Hermione explained as she pulled open the door. Ignoring the caged skeleton, she reached in and pulled out the book. "And here it is."

They both stared for a moment at the copy of Advanced Potion-Making, its charmed-new cover hiding such dangerous information within.

"Well." Hermione said. "I guess I'd better go and start looking through this. Are you coming back yet, or do you want to stay here a while?"

Ginny picked up the old tiara and tried to clean it with a sleeve of her robe. "Well... I don't really want to be here by myself, but I'd feel awful if I just left without having a little look around. I'll come and see you in a while, okay? And I promise to show you anything interesting I find."

Hermione nodded. She turned and walked out of the room, holding the book - not clutched to her chest like a precious object, but cautiously, like a live ferret that might try to squirm away.

---

Draco was bored.

Without his friends or his belongings, he found it hard to amuse himself. He still had his mother, but she only wanted to talk about his new hairstyles and the details of his future wedding to Pansy Parkinson. How he was supposed to get married while they were in hiding, he didn't know. Narcissa tended to avoid any questions about their exile, carrying on as if she were quite certain they would eventually return in triumph.

It made him wonder why Snape was so insistent that he help keep up his mother's morale. She didn't need any help! She was already the most cheerful one in the house.

Wormtail was alternately angry and cringing. He was treated with contempt by Snape and the Malfoys, but didn't seem to dare to raise a hand against them. It was, after all, a bit like having that ungrateful Dobby back again. Mildly amusing, but not someone you could talk to, and not someone you could trust. If that House Elf had taught him anything, it was that even the weak could try to turn on you when the situation was right.

Then there was Snape himself, who seemed positively obsessed with his potions laboratory. He had allowed Draco to assist in the novice work - chopping, sifting, grinding, stirring - but never actually combining any of the ingredients. And then, at last, he had turned Draco out and locked the doors. Draco had occasionally tried to eavesdrop - when he could avoid Wormtail, who was clearly doing the same thing - and heard Snape's voice inside, raised in anger, but too indistinct to make out the words. He seemed to be talking too much for just swearing at a spill or an explosion... What was he doing in there?

At least he wasn't bothering Draco's mother. Narcissa's estimation appeared to be correct - he had no interest in her as a woman. Or else he was only exercising his marital rights late at night, behind sound-warded doors... Draco didn't want to think about that too much.

The silence, the idleness, was choking the life out of him. Not so many days ago, he had been too tense to sleep at night, caught up in plans and preparations for the coming invasion, waiting for just the right moment to spring his trap. Then that terrible night, which had ended so quickly - dragged away by Snape, not even knowing who among his classmates might be dead or alive, presented blind to the gathering of Death Eaters, and then discarded. Cast aside, thrown to Snape as some kind of reward. And since then, nothing. What had happened that night? What had happened since? Were the papers shrieking for the fall of the house of Malfoy? Had the wizarding public rallied behind Harry Potter, or scattered in fear before the might of the Dark Lord?

It was tempting to demand that the Dark Lord give him some assignment, some new chance to prove himself, just to have something to **do**.

Draco smirked to himself. Looking for a foolish cause to rush into bravely? How... Gryffindor.

---

It was too bad, Hermione thought, that the covers had been swapped. She would liked to have had a closer look at the way "Half-Blood Prince" was written in the back. A triumphant flourish? A secret scribble that only close scrutiny could unravel?

Flipping quickly through the pages, she had to admit that it wasn't simple laziness that had kept Harry from finding all of the book's secrets. The text was absolutely packed with scribbling, and all in such small lettering, running on top of the official language, that it was very difficult to skim through and get any general idea of what was contained in a passage.

But first, to make sure that ALL the text was visible...

She drew out her wand, wondering briefly if this counted as illegal underage magic, then rolling her eyes. She was seventeen, and school was over. They weren't kids anymore.

Three taps on the cover. "Apparecium!"

Then, of course, she had to restrain herself from grabbing the book and flipping all the pages again just to see if something new had jumped out. If new text was visible, she would find it when she got to it.

Where to begin?

Well, they used this textbook in class, but they didn't go through it in order - instead, they looked up the day's potion and worked from there. So there could be places anywhere inside the book that Harry hadn't seen yet. It would make more sense to start at the beginning.

She skimmed through the "Introduction to Advanced Potions" (free of notes except for a sarcastic "Blah, blah, rubbish!" scribbled on the title) and began reading through the ingredients for Whisker-Blunting Cream.

Hermione blinked.

There were TWO sets of handwriting.

Were these Eileen Prince's notes suddenly resurfacing next to her son's?

No... the notes were** alternating**. One person was writing for a minute, then another would pick up, then back to the first. The two authors had obviously worked on the potion together.

Snape's long-ago class partner, maybe? But Whisker-Blunting Cream wasn't on the sixth-year curriculum, and it seemed too simple for the seventh. Maybe it was all those years ago? She flipped ahead to the Draught of the Living Death, the second potion in the book. The added notes looked just like she remembered from class. Comments about the crushing of the beans, "white or yellow equal" next to the asphodel root, but nothing in the mysterious second handwriting.

No. There were numbers scribbled, checked off, and crossed through, running along the bottoms of the pages. They could have been written in either hand, but Hermione thought they looked slightly more like the second. What they meant, she wasn't sure.

Hermione turned ahead to the end of the potion, the final instructions that none of them had had time to reach in class. The numbers continued, leading at last to the written word "Success!" Definitely the second handwriting.

And next to that, two little doodles. A flower - asphodel? - and a crown.

---

Author's Note: The Draco and Hermione segments are not exactly concurrent. Remember, with Draco we picked up right after the night Dumbledore died, whereas with Hermione and Ginny we started after the funeral. So we need a little jumping ahead and suggestion of how things at Snape's safehouse have been going these past few weeks to get them in line with each other. It's a house full of restless tension, with nobody talking honestly to anybody else.

Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it!


	6. Friends and Allies

Morning dawned in Gryffindor Tower. Ginny had a pile of battered treasures rescued from the trash heap, including a little doll that could be charmed to dance a jig, and a bouncing ball that always magically reversed direction right before impact - now whizzing frantically around the room. Hermione had a page of notes, but not much insight. 

The flower-and-crown paired symbols appeared at the end of the first few potions in the book. Then they began to skip, appearing only after every other, or every three. As the second author's input dropped off, the original author - Snape - began to edge more and more into nasty little charms and pranks, and after the Levicorpus inscription, the second author vanished entirely. But that didn't tell her anything useful, just that Snape as a teenager had worked with someone else at the beginning of sixth year and then stopped.

Wait... Harry had explained about the Levicorpus incident. That was fifth year, not sixth. So Snape had been working ahead in his books. Well, that didn't tell her anything except that he was studious - and he shouldn't have picked on HER so much for reading all the books! Even she wasn't quite enough of a swot to work through and critique all the assignments for the NEXT year's classes. With Harry and Ron to keep out of trouble, she didn't have the time!

Still, the book didn't tell her anything useful. It was the property of an angry young man, becoming progressively more nasty as time passed - but no spells about killing anyone, no comments on performing Unforgivables, no hint of why Snape would join the Death Eaters.

Hermione smacked herself on the head with her quill. Well, it wasn't like he was going to write "Hi, I'm a future double agent!" in his textbook, was it?

He did write that he was the Half-Blood Prince, though. That still didn't make sense. The crown in the flower-and-crown signature could stand for Prince... but when the second author disappeared, both the flower and the crown stopped showing up. Maybe the flower-and-crown meant only the second author instead of the two of them together. A relative, perhaps? With a flowery name? If he'd been working with a pureblood cousin named Cyclamen Prince or something, then the half-blood signature could have been to set himself apart from his cousin.

So, did Snape have a Princely cousin? To the library!

---

When Snape emerged from the makeshift potions laboratory in the basement of their Buckinghamshire retreat, he did not appear to be a well man. Along with the filthy, matted hair and the sallow skin, there were deep rings under his eyes that turned his long features into a frightful vision. Draco could not help but take a step backwards. Snape might not be as terrifying as the Dark Lord, but he was definitely in competition. Here was a man who had stared into the face of death long enough that it was starting to look back.

And yet, despite this appearance, Snape's voice was the essence of civility. "Good morning, Draco. I trust your mother is well?"

"Yes, sir." He smiled bravely. "I think the challenge of making this Muggle dump livable is actually making her happier than she has been in a long time."

A raised eyebrow. "She has told you she is happy?"

"No," Draco admitted. "But she seems to enjoy herself."

"Never make assumptions about what a woman feels," Snape warned. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"My mother has a noble spirit. She will be fine," Draco said, somewhat exasperated. "She knows I - you - will look after her."

Snape's eyes met his, pools of blackness that seemed to draw him in... Draco struggled to apply his knowledge of Occlumency and hide his first thought, that he would look after his mother by freeing her from the Vow. He must not let Snape think of him as an enemy! Anyway, he didn't want Snape dead, even if that would be the simplest solution... he DID owe him more than that.

"I only want what is best for both of you," Snape said, his voice as slick as oil. "You believe that, don't you, Draco?"

"Yes, sir." He ran a hand nervously over his hair. "We are very grateful."

"Good. Because there is a way in which you can be of service to your master." Snape's long fingers, tainted with the smell of unknown ingredients, seized hold of Draco's pointed chin and tilted it upwards. "You must take my place."

The young Malfoy tried to show no reaction. "Your place, sir?"

Severus Snape smiled. "You must become a traitor to the Dark Lord."

---

Hermione sighed. There was a second cousin, yes - one Diluvia Prince, Slytherin House - but she was too many years older to have been Snape's fifth-year Potions associate. The only Slytherin girls with flower names close to the right age were Narcissa Black and Violet Bolger (Pansy's mother, probably, if that face was any guide) and the flower in the book didn't look anything like a violet or a narcissus. Of course, that little flower doodle was so generic, it could mean any kind of flower. How would she know?

Sighing, she glanced down at her hand, which lay partially covering a picture of a group of Slytherins.

_R... Black_

Hermione picked up her hand.

_Regulus Black_.

No middle name listed, but... hadn't someone said Sirius had a brother who joined the Death Eaters? Could this be the mysterious RAB after all?

Hermione scooped up the old picture and kissed it, ignoring the disgusted expressions on the purebloods' faces. Thank heavens for libraries! She'd found a clue to a problem she hadn't even been researching at the time.

Returning to the commons, Hermione checked to be sure Ginny wasn't around, then called the Burrow on the Floo. "Harry! I found something!"

Harry looked a bit tired, but still pleased to see her. "Something about Snape?"

"No, something better. I think I found R.A.B. I'm not sure about the middle name, but remember Sirius' brother? Regulus Black? He was a Death Eater and he defected and Voldemort killed him, remember?"

Harry nodded. "I don't remember his full name either. I suppose I could check the tapestry at Grimmauld Place..."

"Grimmauld Place!" Hermione repeated excitedly, another memory falling into place. "We found that old locket there, the one we couldn't open! Oh, Harry, that must be it!"

"Which probably means it's gone by now," Harry's face was grim. "Mundungus will have sold it back to the collectors shops. And he's in Azkaban and we can't even ask."

"We can search the shops in Hogsmeade!" Ron suggested. "We can have a nice day out all together..."

"No, we can't. Harry is **supposed** to be resting," Hermione scolded.

Harry glowered. "I'm **fine**. I'm not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of going to Hogsmeade without needing a nursemaid."

"But you can't!" Hermione flapped her hands anxiously. "We don't even know if Fletcher **did** steal the locket. It could still be back at 12 Grimmauld Place. Ron, make him see reason!"

Ron looked back and forth between Harry and the fire. "Er, how about we check the old place first, then? If it's not there, then we go to Hogsmeade."

Harry pressed his lips together irritably, but nodded. "We should get hold of Kreacher and see if he knows anything. He was always trying to stop Sirius from throwing things out - he might have the locket stashed somewhere. He probably won't tell you, though. If you see him, tell him I command that he visit me. I'll get him to talk. He'll know about Regulus, too."

Hermione sighed. "I'll try, but I don't like bossing the elves around."

Ron snorted with laughter.

Harry quickly changed the subject. "So, no luck finding that Potions book? I think I've got Snape on the brain... I had this awful dream about him last night. I dreamed I was a baby and he was standing over my crib, getting ready to blast me into smithereens." He shuddered.

"Did your scar hurt?" Hermione peered at him, worried. "It was just a dream, right? It wasn't one of those visions?"

Harry shook his head. "Snape couldn't have been there the night my parents died. Either he would have killed me, or tried to kill me and ended up like Voldemort, or carried me off to Dumbledore as proof that he was really a good guy after all. It was just a dream. It's just because I'm thinking about him too much."

"I did find the book, but I haven't gotten much from it yet," Hermione admitted. "I found out that Snape had a friend or partner he was studying with for the first part of the book, but then they stopped working together for some reason. And I don't know who it is. There's just this flower, like a signature. So I thought it could be a girl with a flower name, but I looked through all the Slytherin girls his age and I couldn't find anyone really suitable. And that's where I saw Regulus's name."

Harry nodded. "If Snape had a friend who didn't become a Death Eater.."

"Slimy Snape? Friends?" Ron scoffed. "Probably just competing to see who could poison the most cockroaches quickest."

"... if he had a friend," Harry continued, "that friend might be able to tell us something about him, or where to find him. But it's a long shot."

Hermione nodded. "I suppose I could check the other houses. Since he was studying ahead, maybe a Ravenclaw. I'll look for all the people with flower-names..." She paused. "Well. There's your mother, of course. And she **was** good at potions. But..."

"Snape called my mother a filthy Mudblood," Harry said darkly. "He tried to hide it from me, but I saw the truth. There was no way they were friends."

"Right," said Hermione. "I'll keep looking."

---

Draco gaped. "Sir?"

"A spy," Snape elaborated, releasing his grip on the young Malfoy. "A spy for both sides. You will return to your classmates, full of stories about the horrors you have witnessed, and how you are truly sorry for the things you have done, and beg their forgiveness. You will tell them a few secrets you have managed to win from me. You will gain their confidence. And then you will return here, and tell their secrets to me."

"This is - what you did?"

"Oh, yes," Snape smiled. "I was Dumbledore's pet Death Eater. Everyone knew it. But everyone thought that I was on their side, you see. That is the key to being an effective spy. You must be able to convince everyone that you really work for them. After recent developments, of course, I can no longer continue in my old position. But you - you are young. They will believe that it was all a foolish mistake, that you never meant any harm..."

Draco nodded slowly. At least, as a spy, he would be in a position to know things. He was sick of not knowing what was going on. If he were able to work for both sides... knowledge was power. But could he pull it off? "What if I can't convince them, sir?"

"Then you will be granted a visit to your sire," Snape said. "And remain there. I have spent time in Azkaban myself, you know. Still, it is unlikely that they will harm you. Unlike our associates, who will be most displeased if you fail them again." Snape plucked at the sleeves of his robe, tugging them back down over his hands. "Our rewards, of course, are also greater, as you saw when the Dark Lord bound your mother to me."

Once again, Draco was forced to draw upon his growing acting ability to remain expressionless. VOLDEMORT was the Binder? Then...

"Go and speak to your mother," Snape suggested. "You will not be able to see her for a while after this. Then, I will help you to prepare your story of the terrible things you have endured at my hands..."

Draco nodded obediently. There was no question of resisting, of course. Following Snape's plan would cement his position with the older man. He would learn to play both sides. He would gain access to everyone's plans. And then he could make his choice. Because, to free his family from the Unbreakable Vow...

... the Dark Lord would have to die.


	7. Crossing Streams

That morning, quite a lot of things were happening at once. 

Luna Lovegood was staring enraptured at an out-of-season conker that had come from nowhere to strike her on the head. Clearly a sign of things to come.

Ron Weasley was apologising frantically to Gabrielle Delacour, who at thirteen was just coming into her Veela charms, still a little embarassed about them, and didn't take kindly to being accidentally walked in on while undressed.

Neville Longbottom was listening to his Gran tell him about all the wonderful legacies he would inherit upon his upcoming seventeenth birthday.

Harry Potter wasn't thinking about his birthday at all. He was trying to think about missing horcruxes, but kept getting distracted by endless servings of Molly's oatmeal.

Hermione Granger was wandering around the dungeon corridors hunting for Kreacher, who hadn't been in the kitchens.

Ginny Weasley was on her way to the Headmistress' Office to volunteer her services for another day of reorganisation.

Minerva McGonagall was staring in shock at the somewhat-bedraggled figure of Draco Malfoy that had appeared on her doorstep begging forgiveness.

And someone else was taking advantage of this distraction to make an unauthorised entry...

---

Severus Snape stalked the dungeon corridors, robes swirling, wand at the ready, past and present melding in his eyes. For nearly seventeen years, this had been his domain, his to command, and any who crossed his path had reason to fear. But there were years before that... years where he had been only a student, desperate to keep out of sight of fellow students, who might attack him, or teachers, who might try to stop him.

Now once again he was a fugitive, needing to remain undiscovered. But he found he could not easily slip into the mindset of the frightened, scheming child he had once been. There was no room left in his world for fear, not anymore. Anger, hatred... regret... never fear. What was there left to be afraid of? He would live until he died, and there would always be pain.

Draco's entry into the world of espionage should cover his tracks. Whichever way the young Malfoy fell, it could only benefit Snape. Draco didn't know enough to complicate any existing plans, and he would not want to bring angry aurors down upon his mother. Any information he brought back, even if it were lies, would give Snape insight into the Order's thinking - and he, of coure, would be the one to choose what to pass on to the Dark Lord.

He had almost reached his target when someone blundered into the way.

Masses of bushy hair, startled-wide brown eyes - Hermione Granger. What was she doing here?

She stared back at him, confused. "Profes-" she started to ask.

But before she could get even half of her moronic question out of her mouth, he had cut her off. "_Stupefy_!" Red sparks flew out of his wand, and the girl slumped to the floor.

Stupid, idiotic, mud-brained girl! THIS was supposed to be the brains of the operation? A girl who, faced with a known enemy, armed and dangerous, could only think to raise her hand and ask questions?

Well, he couldn't leave her lying around.

"_Natrix_," he mumbled to the door of his private lab, and it dutifully swung open.

He slipped his hands under the shoulders of the unconscious girl, surprised at the weight of her - somehow, in his mind, she had always remained a twittering first-year; under all the hair and robes, it could be hard to tell the difference - and dragged her into the room.

The door shut behind them.

---

The door to the basement lab in Buckinghamshire remained firmly shut, despite many whispers of "Alohomora!" and other spells more commonly used in grave robbing. Leftover animal instinct led the frustrated man to claw and scrabble at the unyielding wood. It was no use - the secrets within were barred from him.

"Get away from there!" a woman snapped.

The man whirled around, a rapid intake of air whistling through his front teeth. "I'm not doing anything. Just looking after the place, yes?"

"You're a thief and a rat, Wormtail," Narcissa said dismissively. "You have no business in there. You'd probably blow yourself up."

"I am every bit the wizard he is!" Wormtail insisted angrily. "Who made the potions that nurtured our lord and master in his dark exile? Who brought him back to life? Not Severus Snape!"

"He is the lord of this house, and you are not. Now come away from there. I require your services," Narcissa commanded.

"Services, she says," he mumbled bitterly as he stepped away from the door. "You give your 'lord' services, too, I expect. His reward. I've done more for the Dark Lord than he ever has. Why doesn't he give **me** a reward?"

The look on her face was nothing but disdain. "Because he doesn't have to."

---

Hermione was not having a good day.

She'd thought it would be simple to locate Kreacher in the kitchens with the other house elves. But neither he nor Dobby were anywhere in sight, and the house-elves she did see had scattered in fear at her approach. Honestly! As if she would ever do anything to hurt them!

She could try making a horrible mess and waiting to see if they would show up to tidy, but that would be mean - and they might still wait for her to leave before getting on with things.

Surely they had to be around here somewhere...

With her eyes scanning the floors and shadows for elf-sized beings, she was caught off-guard when a dark robe moved into her sight. Her eyes shot upwards, to meet a sight both familiar and unexpected. Snape's fearsome scowl froze her on the spot, like a first-year caught out after curfew. "Profes..."

And then he struck. Hermione had only enough time to think "_Oh, bollocks_" before all was blackness.

_zzz..._

Her head hurt.

Why did she feel strange?

Must have been the firewhisky.

No... wasn't that a different day?

SNAPE!

Hermione's eyes flew open. What - where?

Robes intact. Hands unchained. Body generally undamaged, except for the aftereffects of stunning. She was sitting on a chair in what, she quickly recognised, was the remains of Snape's private office. Shelves which had previously been crammed with books, artifacts, and potions components now stood mostly bare, and the papers scattered over the desk were nothing but old student assignments in need of grading. Any clues to be found here had already been taken. She was too late.

Hermione stood shakily. So what had happened? Snape had shown up to clean out his office, and she had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Shouldn't someone have noticed him entering the school? And... what had he done to her? Knocked her out, dragged her out of sight, and then just left her alone? Why hadn't he simply killed her? She was a Muggleborn, after all. Surely Voldemort would have been impressed that Snape had racked up a few extra points for their side. She certainly couldn't have stopped him. The Killing Curse, a few rounds of torture, carted away as a plaything for the Death Eaters - any of it could have happened. But he just left her here?

Hermione's fists clenched in frustration. It wasn't fair! She'd gotten into the office at last - she'd actually **seen Snape** - and she didn't have any more answers, only more questions! Whose side was he on? If he wasn't going to kill her, if there was some secret plan they didn't know about, why couldn't he have **told her**?

Maybe he'd left a message?

She scoured the scrolls scattered on the desk, looking for signs, but found nothing out of the ordinary except for a circled doodle of a goblet on Neville Longbottom's essay on Dementors, just before the typical scathing criticism began. If it was a sign, it was not a very clear one. Nothing useful at all.

Oh, it was all so **unfair**!

Well, there was no use crying over spilt milk. Hermione let herself out of the office, sliding some crumpled pages into the doorframe in the hopes of keeping it open. It might not work, and there probably wasn't anything left here anyway, but it would be a waste not to try.

Carefully, Hermione made her way back to Gryffindor Tower. How long had she been unconscious? Maybe she could catch an elf after dinner...

Suddenly her arm was seized by an excited redhead.

"Hermione! Where have you been?" Ginny babbled. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

How could she explain? "Well..." Hermione began.

But Ginny cut her off. "Have you **heard**? Draco was here! He came to turn himself in, he wants to turn against the Death Eaters, he wants to be on our side!"

Hermione stared, her own story momentarily jarred out of her mind. "What?"

"He came to McGonagall," Ginny tried to explain. "They tortured him, they've got his mother, he doesn't want anything to do with them but he can't just walk away, so he's staying with them but he'll tell us what he knows, you see? Of course, we don't know for certain that he's telling the truth, but Professor McGonagall checked him in the glass - she didn't have any Veritaserum on hand, you know - and it said he wasn't our enemy. Isn't that exciting?"

"Wow," Hermione blinked. "Is he still here?"

Ginny shook her head. "He had to go back, he'll come again later after we've had some time to work out a plan. He admits he doesn't know very much right now, so we don't know how useful he can be. But we're **doing something**, Hermione, things are happening!" She squeezed her friend's hand. "I wonder what Harry's going to think. It's just like Snape, sort of. Coming back and saying he's sorry, wanting to be our spy... Harry's probably not going to like it."

"Harry and Draco have never gotten along," Hermione agreed absently. "They'll probably have to have a fight at some point to settle things. You know how boys are."

Her mind was spinning. Should she tell her friends about Snape's visit, when they had so much else to talk about now? Was it a coincidence, Snape and Draco showing up at the same time? What did it all mean?

Perhaps... perhaps it was best to keep quiet about this for now. Just until she had a few more answers.

---

Author's Notes: Gabrielle's exact age is not known. Harry guessed she was about eight during the Second Task, but he didn't see that much of her. Making her instead a very small ten or eleven, first-year age, would have made her more suitable for use in the challenge.

Sparks fly... yes, I'm evil. I thought it had been long enough that H and S needed to have SOME contact, but they're not ready to do more than pass in the night yet.

"Natrix" _Natrix natrix_, the grass snake. A play on "snake in the grass", a traitor.


	8. Heart of Fire

_A tall tower, floating in darkness. The very stones were burning, sending sparks into the sky to mingle with the stars. The stairs had collapsed into fire. No way out._

_She stood, her back to the edge, with nowhere left to run. Her wand was gone, her magic was drained. She was defenseless._

_He moved with deliberate slowness, his face a contrast of black shadow and reflected firelight. He raised his wand, pointed it at her._

_She waited to hear the words that would end her life in a flash of green light. But there were no words._

_A purple light spiraled out of his wand and flowed around her, forming a glowing bubble that swept her off her feet._

_The flames roared angrily, billowing up from the broken staircase and rushing across the tower. The dark man only stood and stared at her as the sea of fire overtook him._

_She screamed and beat her fists against the shimmering surface, but it would not yield._

_The wand fell from his burning hand._

_Then the stones of the tower shivered and slowly broke apart. The man, the tower, the fire - all tumbled into darkness. Only she remained, floating in her shining prison._

_Safe and alone._

---

_The reflection in the pool is not me_, Draco thought. _This should not be me._

But the image that rippled on the surface of the water beneath him remained the same. An anonymous evil, a hired thug to be used and discarded. He had once thought the black robe and silver mask were the uniform of a proud army - certainly it had looked suitably fearsome on his father. But now that army had abandoned his father, and the mask weighed heavily upon his face.

The Death Eaters were a congregation of black swans, skating across the surface of a lake. Here in the center of the water, with only magic to hold them up, they were far from any observer. The shapes of trees lurked on the distant shores, and the half-moon overhead glistered dimly in the warm July night.

They all looked the same in the dark - a faceless horde in service to their master. He could feel Snape looming behind him, he knew his aunt must be at Voldemort's side - but until they spoke he could not point out anyone by name, and sometimes not even then.

Ahead of him, a hulking figure fought to keep his balance on the shifting surface while also abasing himself properly before the Dark Lord. The Master was displeased with the speed at which certain supplies were being gathered. The man apologised repeatedly, promising to make use of his son for more purchases, and Draco recognised the voice at last - Goyle's father.

Was he allowed, now, to associate with Crabbe and Goyle? Neither of them had properly joined the organisation, but they were hardly above suspicion - would they be allowed to see him?

No time now. Confidence!

"So," Voldemort's hissing attention turned to Draco. "What has our new spy uncovered? Will they trust you?"

"The fools were actually happy to see me," Draco proclaimed. "The old witch was 'concerned for my welfare' and easily believed I was frightened and mistreated by my new associates. They even offered to hide me in the Americas instead of using my services." This was true. McGonagall had said something about getting him out of the country - but of course, she had no ability to free his father or mother to accompany him. And he was not enough of a coward to flee to safety and leave them behind.

"And what of Potter?"

"He is not staying at the school," Draco reported. "Only one of the Weasleys was there. They did not mention where Potter was, but said that I might be able to meet him later, after they've had a chance to feed me Veritaserum."

"Yes," Voldemort chuckled. "Your **father** should have no difficulty in supplying you with the antidote."

"Of course, Master," Draco bowed, aware of Snape's presence behind him. "Is there anything specific you need me to discover?"

"It is too soon to press them for information," Snape's voice cut in. "First, they must become comfortable with his presence in their midst. He has traditionally been their enemy."

"As I would have stated," Voldemort responded, his voice carrying a note of warning. Severus instantly bowed before his master, and Draco followed suit. "Leave us now."

Snape caught his arm, drew him away from the others, across the bobbing surface of the lake. "There will always be things you are not allowed to hear," he explained. "What you do not know, you cannot be forced to betray. And, of course, no one truly trusts a spy." A soft noise, like a dry laugh, escaped the confines of the mask. "Not that it helps them"

---

Ginny was right - Harry was not happy.

"Trust the **ferret**?" he goggled. "He's been nothing but a nasty little sneak since the day he was born!"

Ron's head nodded vigorously in the fire next to Harry's. "You should have popped him one for the team, Gin."

Ginny sat beside Hermione in the Gryffindor common room, having broken her self-imposed No Communication With Harry rule for the importance of the occasion. "You were **worried** about him just the other day! Draco's a spoiled brat, but he's not a killer. He was scared. He wanted to get out. You said so yourself!"

"If he's so scared and helpless that he couldn't talk to anyone, why's he talking to you now?" Ron asked.

Ginny shrugged. "He did everything to try and save his father, right? Well, even with Dumbledore dead, Malfoy senior is still in Azkaban. So that's what Draco wants in exchange for helping us - his parents' freedom." She made a face at Harry. "I'm not saying he's suddenly turned into a nice boy. But he's not our enemy. We can use him, even if we don't totally trust him. We know what he wants, we'll know when he's up to something..."

"Dumbledore knew that Draco was up to something," Harry said darkly. "It didn't help him, did it?"

"That's it!" Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who until now had been unusually quiet. Now her eyes gleamed with excitement. "Don't you get it? Dumbledore **did** know!"

"What are you talking about?" Ron asked.

Hermione held up her hand for silence. "Dumbledore absolutely, positively knew Draco was trying to kill him, even though he wouldn't admit it to Harry and kept trying to throw Harry off the scent. He knew it all year long. He **also** absolutely, positively knew that Snape had to help Draco or die. Even if Snape didn't tell him about it, Harry did! Harry told him about the Unbreakable Vow, right?"

"So what?" asked Harry.

Hermione blew out an exasperated breath. "Don't you get it? He knew Snape had to kill him or die. That's not something you can just ignore and hope it works out. If you knew someone had to kill you or die trying, would you just sit back and wait?"

"I **do** have someone who has to kill me or die," Harry reminded her.

"Oh. Right. But - well, that's different," she said, flustered. "It's not like you and Voldemort can just sit and talk things out. But what if there were a curse put on Ron?"

"Hey, I don't want any curses!" Ron waved his hands in front of his face.

"If **Ron** had to kill you or die, you wouldn't just sit back and wait for him to drop dead, would you? You'd try to find a way out, you'd come up with a plan!"

"But Snape still did it," Ginny said.

Hermione sighed. "Maybe that **was** the only way out. If there's no way to break the Unbreakable Vow, and one of them had to die..."

"If one of them had to die, it should have been Snape," Harry said angrily. "He's a worthless traitor. He killed my parents. Dumbledore was a great wizard, the strongest power the Order had. He wouldn't just give up and leave us like this. He wouldn't abandon me!"

"He was training you all year for..." Hermione began.

"No," Harry snapped. "I don't want to hear it. Dumbledore didn't leave me. Snape killed him. He killed him, and he killed my parents. He's a lying, sneaking, backstabbing freak who's turned on everyone he's ever known. And I bet he's the one who sent Draco here, too, just to take up where he left off. A new little spy, so terribly sorry for the things he's done, just waiting for us to make friends with him so he can kill one of us too!"

"Harry - "

"For once in your life, Hermione, will you just **SHUT UP**?"

As Hermione's eyes suddenly pricked with tears, Harry's face went pale and disappeared from the fire.

"Whoops," Ron sighed. "He didn't mean anything by it. You know that."

Hermione scrubbed at her face. "It's just not fair," she muttered. "I wasn't even running my mouth. He was."

Ginny hugged her shoulders. "We all know Harry's a total idiot," she quipped. "That's why we have you to be the brain."

"Do you believe me, then?" Hermione asked.

Ron shook his head. "I see what you're saying, but - well, if someone did put a curse on me to say that I had to kill Harry or die, and we couldn't break it, I still wouldn't do it. I'd rather be dead than that. So even if the greasy git was actually following Dumbledore's plan, it still means he's the sort of person who would rather kill than die."

"That's very wise of you, Ron," Ginny said.

Ron made a face at his little sister. "Yeah, well, **I'm** not a total idiot." He shrugged. "So maybe Harry shouldn't go after Snape, but I still don't trust him."

"What about Draco?" Ginny asked. "The Order's going to interrogate him."

Ron shook his head. "We'll just have to wait and see."

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. She knew, in her heart, that she was right, and no one was going to change her mind. Snape was following Dumbledore's orders. Snape had a plan. Snape had spared her life.

_... a glowing bubble ..._

Snape would protect them until the end.

_... the wand fell from his burning hand ..._


	9. Witches Brew

Hermione rubbed her left arm fretfully as she wandered the dungeon corridors. Ever since that dream she'd had, there had been a sense of something not quite right. Something she couldn't quite remember, something she needed but could not find. Ginny had gotten a bit fed up at having to repeat questions multiple times before getting an answer. It was easier to just wander off on her own, even if some assistance might have been useful in tracking the elusive house elves. 

She still needed to find Kreacher and ask about the locket. Making some progress on the quest for the Horcruxes should make Harry happy and convince him she wasn't just thinking about Snape all the time.

... of course, she **was** thinking about Snape. Even now, as she walked the underground halls once more on her own, she was wondering if he would appear. Next time she would be ready. Next time he couldn't catch her so off-guard. Next time she would force him to give her some answers.

Aha! There was Dobby by the kitchens! He could help her find her target.

---

The walls were hideous and rough-gray, made out of some not-stone substance unfamiliar to the young Malfoy. Copper pipes and wires poked in and out along their surfaces, buzzing and humming as they went about their mysterious business. The floor was a similar gray, though smoother, and showing signs of old drip stains near some of the piping. If the rest of the home had been attractively bland by Muggle standards, by the same standards this oversized cupboard was fairly unsightly. And yet, it was in a way more comforting to Draco than the soulless white rooms had been. It was a bit like a dungeon and a bit like a torture chamber - both pleasantly familiar.

He had not been allowed to return to his mother's comfortable surroundings since embarking on this spy story. Instead, he slept here, locked up in the basement. It was supposed to add credence to his tale of being mistreated and unhappy with the Death Eaters. Honestly, that 'mistreatment' wasn't much. Of course, Snape had cast Crucio on him - but it wasn't like it was the first time he'd felt that spell, and anyway, Aunt Bella was better at it.

The sound of clattering and thumping through the wall reminded Draco of the other benefit of these new living quarters - he was now right next to Snape's laboratory. Maybe now he would have a chance to find out just what the man was up to in there.

Draco quickly transfigured a dead spider into an acceptable glass and placed it against the wall to listen. Yes... Snape was definitely speaking, but he still couldn't make out the words. A long incantation? His was definitely the only voice speaking...

"**_WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER ME?_**"

That scream, and the following clatter of jars being dashed to the ground, came through loud and clear.

_**THUD**_

Draco could hear the heavy door of Snape's lab bounce off the wall as it was angrily thrown open. Footsteps clomped forcefully up and away.

Had he really...

Cautiously, Draco pushed his own door open. Yes! The door to the laboratory was ajar!

Snape could return at any moment... He'd sounded too angry to think clearly, which meant that it might take him a while to remember about the door, but also meant he would not be polite if he caught Draco snooping. Well, he'd take the risk. This was his best chance to find out what his former mentor was up to.

Slipping inside, he looked around at the mess that had been made of the place. A pool of newt eyeballs was spreading across the floor in one spot, and a foul-smelling smear he would rather not identify dripped down the wall onto the shattered remains of its container.

Aha! There was a cauldron, clearly recently used.

Draco peered inside at the curious green oil. It wasn't any potion he recognised, but Snape was more than capable of inventing new horrible substances. Perhaps if he could identify the ingredients...

Remembering Slughorn's potions class, he waved his wand. "Specialis revelio!"

Concentrate... Images and impressions flickered briefly in his mind of the magical components that came together into this brew. Sage... Henbane... Powdered toad's skin... Deadly Nightshade... Mistletoe berries... Bat's blood... Fermented mandrake broth... What **was** this stuff? Half the ingredients could kill you if you weren't careful, but this particular selection would have similar antidotes, so combining them wouldn't really make a more effective poison. They were all mind-affecting, so perhaps the idea was to drive you mad quickly enough that you couldn't figure out how to save yourself?

Draco tapped his wand against the cauldron thoughtfully. Properly enchanted, of course, such herbs could have a wide variety of results. The ingredients were certainly powerful. But he still couldn't recognise it, and it certainly didn't seem to be any sort of transportation or long-distance communication concoction. So why was Snape yelling at someone for not answering him?

A creak of the door alerted him just in time to look up and catch Wormtail slinking into the laboratory. Draco shoved the cauldron behind him. If he didn't know what it was, he certainly didn't want to let the rat figure it out.

"Sss, naughty naughty," the older man wheezed. "The young 'master' isn't supposed to be in here, is he?"

Draco scowled. "I have more right to be here than you do, worm. Severus Snape is my father now. I am his heir." Strange, how easily those words came. "You are nothing but a servant. Get out."

"Don't know what you've found, do you?" Wormtail grinned, rubbing his hands together. "And your father always said you were such a clever boy. I'm a better wizard than you are, little lord. Show me what you've got and I'll tell you what it does. Isn't that nice of me? Wouldn't you rather be my friend?"

"How about I pour it down your throat and see what it does then?" Draco smirked. "Care to play? Maybe it's a weapon, maybe it'll make you a super-man." A dismissive sniff. "Super worm. Or maybe it's a poison, maybe it'll boil your brain slowly. Shall we find out?"

"You'd like to know, wouldn't you? All you have to do is let me see..." He started to creep forward, hands outstretched.

"Get back!" A quick motion of his wand and a Stinging Hex followed the words.

Wormtail flinched for a moment, then grinned. "A child's trick. Little dragon, you're just a little boy..."

"_Confundus! Oculo ignem!_"

Wormtail howled and grabbed at his face, scrubbing at his eyes. He staggered awkwardly against one of the laboratory desks, adding another tipped vial to the disastrous mess.

"You're nothing, worm," Draco sneered, catching his breath now that he had the upper hand. "Whatever it does, I wouldn't want to waste it on you. _Mobilicorpus_!" A flick of his wand lifted the helpless wizard off his feet, still moaning about his eyes burning. Draco walked out of the lab, guiding Wormtail's hovering body in front of him, and deposited the man on the basement stairs. He closed the door to the laboratory, then stepped back towards his own cupboard entrance.

The young blond stared at the figure scrabbling weakly against the steps, unable to tell up from down under the influence of the Confundus. He really did look as pathetic as a House Elf, and that was the problem. Draco hadn't wanted to turn the servant completely against him, not with so many other sources of treachery already facing him. He didn't need another enemy. But the way the man had acted towards him in the laboratory, bestial and grasping, creeping into position to pounce... it had reminded him too much of Fenrir Greyback.

Well, no use crying over spilled blood.

"_Finite Incantatem_," he cast, then withdrew to his room.

---

"... so that's it," Hermione explained. "The locket wasn't thrown out, but it's missing now. Mundungus must have gotten to it."

Kreacher's initial reluctance at speaking to a filthy Mudblood had been overcome by his outrage at the thought of someone rifling through the Black family heirlooms. And when he discovered that the item had actually been stolen, he'd pounded his own head black and blue before returning to report the news.

"Well, look on the bright side," Ron smiled through the fire. "It means we can have a nice trip out. We can all go to Hogsmeade, buy wedding presents, Harry can interrogate people, and I'll even take you to Madam Puddifoot's - I mean, if you want to."

"Um, maybe," Hermione blushed. "I think it would upset Harry and Ginny if we went off together, though."

Ron shrugged. "Whatever makes you happy. I just don't want you to feel like I'm ignoring you. I miss you."

"I miss you, too," Hermione said quickly. Really, she was far too caught up in the mysteries she wanted to solve to miss him... but he would never understand just how exciting research could be. "If we're going to make a day of it, we should go to Diagon Alley as well. There are more shops there."

Ron nodded. "Some of the adults will probably want to come shopping with us, and they can help with the Apparating."

"See you tomorrow!" Hermione waved.

---

Author's Note: Guess what my husband's employer gave us for Christmas? LAYOFFS. Things are not very good right now, since we didn't have enough money to begin with. If you would like to help, please check out the games that are for sale on my webpage. And if you like them, you can get yourself a Christmas treat that gives me one too:)

Next chapter - Our rating bumps up a level, and not in a good way, as Draco attends another Dark Gathering...


	10. An Unattended Playground

When she met her friends outside the Three Broomsticks, Hermione had hoped they would be happy to see her. 

She hadn't expected Ron to rush over to her dramatically, yelling, "Darling!" and literally sweeping her off her feet in an enormous hug.

"Ron! What on earth..." she hissed over Ginny's giggling.

"Help!" he whispered back, frantically. "She won't leave me alone!"

"Who?"

"You should not let heem touch you!" shrilled a high French soprano. "He ees a pervert!" The dainty blonde Gabrielle Delacour stalked over to them, followed by a smirking Fred and George.

Ginny laughed. "Ron, what have you done to that little girl?"

"Nothing!" Ron insisted. "Hermione's the only one I want!"

He gave her a tighter squeeze, causing her to yelp and thump him. "Ron, put me down!"

"You see?" Gabrielle sniffed. "He does things that are not wanted!"

"She caught him peeping at her while she was changing," George explained. "She's been giving him hell for it ever since."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, working free of his grasp. "She's only thirteen!"

"It was an accident!" he defended, his face turning as red as his hair. "I didn't know she was in there!"

Hermione could see Molly, Arthur, and Harry approaching, with Lupin and Tonks close behind them. All together, they made quite a crowd, which wasn't helping Ron. A few folk wandering around the village were now stopping to stare at all the commotion.

"You wair staring at me!" Gabrielle insisted. "You have been staring at me evair seence!"

"I can't help it, you're a Veela..."

"And you're a pervert!" she stomped her foot.

Hermione sighed. "Look, I'm sure he didn't mean it. Ron's not that kind of boy. He's harmless, really."

"Oh, thanks a lot!" Ron complained.

She elbowed him quickly. "You're practically family now anyway. These things will happen. I'm sure Ginny's walked in on her brothers in the bathroom at some point." Ginny snickered. Hermione took her friend by the shoulders and nudged her towards the little French girl. "Why don't you two and Molly go and have a nice girly day shopping? You can help them find things your sister would like. I'm sure you have better taste in clothes than I do."

Gabrielle hmphed, but allowed Ginny to lead her away.

"Phew!" Ron breathed, waving Harry over to them. "I thought I'd never get her off my back."

He tried to put his arm around Hermione again, but she sidestepped. "Ron, you have got to get over that Veela effect. You've had Fleur around for AGES. And now with her family - You can't let them get to you. What if You-Know-Who found out you boys are completely helpless when faced with a Veela?"

"I am over it!" he protested.

"Then why WERE you staring at her?"

"I wasn't, really," he said, running a hand through his hair. "She's just oversensitive. And we're both embarassed. And you know how it is when you've gotten on someone's nerves and you just keep rubbing on each other..."

"Rubbing her up, were you?" Fred hooted.

"Argh!" Ron tugged on his hair. "C'mon, Hermione. You know I'm not interested in a little girl like that. We can go have a nice time, right?"

Hermione sighed. "We have things to do, Ron. You and Harry and the twins need to go talk to Aberforth and find out what Mundungus might have done with that locket."

Harry blinked. "Why the twins and not you?"

"Because he's a weird, sneaky old man, and they're better at sneaky than I am," Hermione admitted.

George grinned. "Just don't ask me to buy him a goat!"

"But..."

"Business first," Hermione scolded. "If you find the locket by lunchtime, we can have the whole afternoon to play!"

"She's got a point, Ron," Harry said. "We should at least try."

"What are YOU going to do, then?"

"What I do best," Hermione tossed over her shoulder as she walked towards Lupin and Tonks. "Research!"

---

As the boys went off on their mission, Hermione was swept into a big hug by Nymphadora Tonks, purple hair tied into dozens of tiny pigtails. "Hey, you. How have you been? Not too lonely out there on your own?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm very busy." She shook hands with her former Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, whose hair was still gray, but whose clothes were looking more tidy than usual. "Hello, Professor Lupin. How are you?"

He smiled. "Please, Hermione, call me Remus. I haven't been your professor in years, and you're not a child anymore - none of you are."

"Remus," she tried, and smiled. "It's true, I still feel like I'm going to be docked points for that. I was always reminding the boys to say 'Professor' Snape, even in private..."

The faces around her fell at the mention of that name. "Yes, well," Tonks ventured. "That's behind you now, too."

"Not really," Hermione explained. She turned to Lupin. "I had questions I wanted to ask you, about Snape. Since you went to school together, you know him better than any of us."

"I didn't exactly know him..." Remus demurred.

Hermione shook her head. "Even people in other Houses, even people who aren't my friends, I know things about them. Not everybody, maybe, but most of them. Like, about their parents. I know plenty about Draco Malfoy's parents, and he certainly isn't my friend. Did you know anything about Snape's family? Did he hate them? Did he spend holidays at the school?"

Lupin shook his head slowly. "I don't think I ever met Snape Senior... I remember his mother at the station once. She was not a very impressive-looking woman."

Having seen school pictures of Eileen Prince, Hermione was not surprised.

"She was very affectionate to her son - proud, even," Remus continued. "I wouldn't think there were any problems there. And Severus always went home for the holidays." He smiled kindly. "Were you looking for an unhappy home life to explain why he went wrong? If he had secret trouble at home, he certainly wouldn't have told me. All I saw was a young boy who was weak and poor and thought he deserved better."

"Did you ever try to make friends with him?"

Remus spread his hands. "Not for more than a moment. I wasn't interesting enough for him. Ambition is the key trait of Slytherin house, remember. Severus was very clever, but he wanted power most of all."

Hermione glanced around to be sure Harry was nowhere in sight. "What about... Lily? Was SHE ever friends with him?"

Lupin nodded slowly, and Hermione cheered inside. She had been right! "They used to study together. I don't know how it started. She never said. Only that they used to work on potions together." He smiled fondly. "Lily was quite good at Potions, you know." He shook his head, returning to the present. "They had a fight and never really patched things up. She always felt bad about it. Guilty, somehow, even though he was the one who told her never to speak to him again..."

"I know Lily was very pretty and popular," Hermione started. "Was it really just friendship? On his part, I mean?"

"You mean, was he in love with her?" Lupin smiled vaguely at Tonks. "I don't know. Severus never seemed to be the romantic type. He didn't attend balls. I've never seen him with a woman - or a man."

"There's no room in that heart for love," Tonks said disapprovingly. "He's a bitter, nasty old - " She blushed. "Well, he's not that old. But he always acted like he was."

"I know you want answers, Hermione, but sometimes there aren't any," Remus laid a hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes people just turn out wrong, and there's nothing you can do about it. Lily always felt she should have done more. But it wasn't her fault, and it isn't yours."

Hermione shook her head. "I think we're all dismissing him too quickly. He..." Again, she looked around. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else?"

Lupin blinked. "I don't know that I can promise that. Not if it's dangerous."

"If you need to tell, you can," Hermione agreed. "This just isn't something I want gossiped about."

"All right," he allowed. "What is it?"

"I saw Snape," she explained, watching their eyes widen. "He came to the school to get supplies from his office."

"And he spoke to you?" asked Tonks.

"Well, no," Hermione smiled ruefully. "He Stunned me. But you can't blame him for that - I would have attacked if he hadn't. He knocked me out, brought me into his office, and put me on a chair. He was very careful. I didn't even fall off. He didn't hurt me at all, and he could have. He could have killed me or kidnapped me and nobody would have known."

Tonks frowned. "Just because he didn't kill you on sight doesn't mean he's on your side. An Unforgivable Curse requires energy and emotion that he might not have been ready to spend."

"But there's more!" Hermione explained, as best she could, her theories and discoveries about the secrets between Snape and Dumbledore. "I know there's a lot of answers I'm still missing, but it all makes so much sense. If we assume that they had a secret plan, everything fits."

Lupin's eyes were dark with worry. "Hermione, be very careful. There's only one truth we can be sure of: Severus Snape has lived this long because he is very good at making people believe what they want to believe."

"Oi! Hermione!" Ron's voice called from the distance. They turned to see Harry and the three Weasley boys jogging back in their direction.

"Borgin and Burke's," Harry said, gasping for breath. "It's totally obvious, isn't it? They love to buy heirlooms from wizards down on their luck!"

"Aberforth helped Fletcher move quickly around the country," Fred filled in. "He's a Squib, he needed a real wizard's magic to get from place to place."

"But Aberforth didn't go on the jobs, and he didn't see the merchandise," George continued for his brother. "That's why he didn't get caught when Mundungus did, and why he never noticed the locket."

"But..." Hermione blinked. "Borgin and Burke had the locket before. They would recognise it. Shouldn't they have told Dumbledore?"

"Not for free!" Harry exclaimed. "I bet they couldn't believe their luck, getting Slytherin's locket on the cheap not once, but twice!"

"Good thing Harry's rich," Fred joked. "It may take your whole fortune to buy it back!"

"Technically," Hermione said, "it's Harry's anyway. It was stolen. They should have to return it."

Harry shook his head. "Those people care a lot more about galleons than about what's right."

Tonks slammed a fist into her other hand. "Good thing you've got an Auror with you, then!"

---

This time the meeting was not in the dead of night, in mysterious and isolated surroundings. This time it was only mid-afternoon, in an ordinary clearing in an ordinary wood, on the outskirts of an ordinary village. There were jogging paths nearby. It would be easy for a Muggle bystander to wander past and see what was going on.

Draco knew that the hypothetical Muggle wanderer would not survive such a discovery.

This meeting was not about reporting schemes to the Dark Lord and receiving new orders. This meeting was about... playtime. And the toy was currently struggling in the grasp of a large man whose hood had fallen back enough to show his ginger hair. Draco's mask and hood, of course, were firmly in place. She could not recognise him, but he did recognise her.

Rose Zeller. A harmless Hufflepuff, only a second-year, and a pureblood. Perfectly good lineage. Her family weren't even Muggle advocates or opposers of the Dark Lord. She'd never done anything wrong. Yet here she was, being "made an example".

Rose's pretty little heart-shaped face was less pretty now. One cheek glowed red where Bellatrix had slapped her before stealing her wand. Her dark ringlets were tangled and marred with leaves and grass. And her pale skin had gone a sort of greenish-white from terror.

Voldemort watched her wriggle with a sort of amused detachment. "Now, now," he chided. "Is this any way to treat a guest?" He walked over to the captive and tipped up her chin with a gloved hand. "Do you know who I am?"

It was hard to tell, with the child already trembling, but it appeared that she nodded.

"Say my name."

She shook her head frantically.

"Go on," he coaxed. "I won't bite." A chorus of muffled laughter all around. "Let's play a little game. You say my name, and I will give you your wand back."

Her eyes darted back and forth, looking for help. Draco could only watch. "V-Voldemort," she whispered at last.

The Dark Lord's gloved hands slapped together in slow, deliberate applause. "Very good." He reached out his hand, and Bellatrix LeStrange passed him the confiscated wand. "Now, I'm going to give you a chance." He gestured, and the redheaded man dropped the child and stepped away, the Death Eaters forming a circle around the pair. Voldemort handed her the wand. "Go ahead. Take your best shot."

Rose lifted her wand, hand shaking. She took a deep breath. "_Stu-_"

"_Expelliarmus_."

Rose's wand flew away and was grabbed out of the air by a member of the faceless dark circle. She spun around, trying to see where it had gone, and continued turning in place until she came once again face to face with Voldemort.

"Tsk, tsk," the dark wizard said. "Not much to show for your education, are you?" He tapped his wand against his palm. "You know, I once applied to become an instructor at your fine school. I wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. But your headmaster didn't think I would be a good enough teacher."

He scraped the wand along his arm. "_Abrasus_!"

Rose yelped and grabbed at her arm. The skin had gone red.

Voldemort shook his head. "If you were my student, I would have taught you to defend yourself better." Now the tip of his wand twitched in a circle. "_Tarantallegra_!"

Rose's feet kicked out from under her, tap-dancing to their own beat until she lost her balance and fell over in a heap of robes. She huddled silently on the ground.

"Of course," Voldemort mused, "you did have an interesting instructor this year, after all. Perhaps you were just a very poor student." He smiled at his audience. "Severus, remind the child of a little of her homework."

Snape spoke not a word, but flipped the end of his wand sharply upwards. Rose suddenly flew into the air, hoisted aloft by her left ankle. Her robes fell down over her face, revealing her lacy pink-and-white bloomers to the crowd.

All around, the Death Eaters began to laugh. Even Voldemort joined in with a terrible hissing chortle. There he was, the most powerful and feared wizard in the world, laughing at a little girl's underwear. The petty absurdity of it was enough to drive Draco to laughter as well.

Faintly, beneath the cacophony, he could hear Rose crying.

Voldemort raised a hand for silence. "There are many dangerous beasts you should learn to protect yourself from." And now it was the hulking Fenrir Greyback that he motioned forward. Draco cringed and started to turn away, only to find Snape's hand latching firmly onto him.

"You must watch," the older man hissed.

Fenrir's ragged yellow nails traced a path along the pale flesh of Rose's leg, tugging the bloomers to expose a bit more thigh. "So tender and juicy," he rasped. His tongue fell out and he panted like a dog before licking her skin. Still helpless and suspended in mid-air, Rose twitched and whimpered. Then, the werewolf sank his human teeth into her leg, and she screamed.

Draco felt Snape's hand loosen on his shoulder, and the invisible force holding the little Hufflepuff in the air vanished. She tumbled to the ground, her weight tearing her bloodied flesh away from Fenrir's bite.

Voldemort raised his wand. "Next!"

And so it went on, in an array of curses and torments, as various Death Eaters each had their little bit of fun with their helpless doll. At last, the Dark Lord reclaimed the semi-conscious Rose and held his wand close to her tear-stained face. "_Obliviate_."

Her eyes slammed shut.

With a crack, Voldemort apparated away, and other snapping sounds soon followed. Draco looked around desperately for Snape - what am I supposed to do now? - but he was gone. Soon the clearing was empty of all but the blond Malfoy and the fallen little girl.

---

Of course, things were never that simple, Hermione sighed to herself as she and Ginny walked back from Hogsmeade. First, they'd had to finish buying the wedding gifts and break up an altercation between Gabrielle and Gregory Goyle, who she claimed had stepped on her foot while she was browsing the perfumes. (What exactly had **Goyle** wanted with perfume, anyway? Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to know.)

When they'd managed to reach Knockturn Alley, Mr. Borgin had insisted that he had no knowledge of the locket, had not purchased it from Mundungus Fletcher, and would not have bought the thing even if it were offered to him, proclaiming the object to be cursed beyond his own powers to control. "That piece did for the one that sold it, and it did for Burke as well," he muttered darkly. "Well, it won't do for me. I wouldn't touch it."

He had admitted to buying other items off Mundungus, and offered to sell them back to Harry - "for a fair price!", he insisted under Tonks' glowering. "Otherwise I'm out all the money I spent on them, and how was I to know they were stolen?" But Harry hadn't been interested in the other pilfered Black heirlooms, and now it seemed they were no closer to finding the locket than they had been before. Unless Borgin was lying, which was always possible. The locket could have already been repurchased by a Death Eater who was threatening the shop owner to keep him quiet.

Of course, if he honestly believed the locket had killed his partner... What had happened to Caractacus Burke, anyway?

Ginny, beside her, was rather subdued. Being Harry's not-really-at-the-moment girlfriend meant that she was now getting shoved out of the way all the time while the others pursued their quests. Hermione knew that Ginny would much rather have been shopping with Tonks rather than her mother and Gabrielle, and after a whole day of the little blond, probably wished she had stayed at the castle.

They were almost at the Hogwarts Apparition boundary when suddenly a black-robed figure appeared on the road. Both girls had their wands out in a flash, but before they could strike, realised that before them was not one person but two. Draco Malfoy, face unmasked, eyes haunted, stood there cradling the unconscious body of a young student.

"Please," he said. "You have to help me. I don't have anywhere else to go."

---

Note: Phew! And there we stop. This got a bit long, but I wanted to get through both the shopping and the Death Eater gathering.

A lot of people are fond of Dark Revels full of rape, rape, and more rape. Well, I don't think Voldemort is exactly **against** rape, but it's not very high on his list either. So rest assured that while horrible things happened to Rose, that wasn't one of them.


	11. Of Sound Mind And Body

Hermione wondered if Madam Pomfrey ever found the white beds of the hospital wing depressing. It seemed to her that she had already spent more time in this part of Hogwarts than she ought to. Even if she couldn't exactly remember being Petrified, her body knew it. But then, it was the mediwitch's job to see that everyone else got out of this place as soon as they could. She'd always come through for them in the past... and there was only the one patient this time. Surely she could save the day.

The little Hufflepuff lay limp and pale on the bed. Rose didn't look well. The backs of her hands were covered with puffy red scratches, and a large bruise was swelling on her cheek. More worrying, to Hermione, was the fact that she hadn't stirred at all. Dim memories of Muggle first-aid made Hermione itch to check the girl's pulse and pry open her eyes, but Draco had spun away the moment Hermione had reached for the burden in his arms, insisting on taking her straight to a properly qualified healer. Now, the blond was hovering by her bedside like a worried older brother.

Boots clicked rapidly on the stones outside, and Hermione looked up to see Ginny entering with Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall in tow. Hermione and Draco stepped back so that the healer could begin her examination.

"What is your explanation for this, Mister Malfoy?" McGonagall began, her eyes darting worriedly between the young man and the child on the bed. "What have you done?"

"What have I done?" he repeated angrily. "I've risked everything to help her! The Dark Circle, they were using her as a toy... I couldn't just leave her there. I brought her here so you could help her!"

"Why did you not take her to St Mungo's?"

Draco smoothed his hair back in an irritated gesture. "They would have arrested me! This was the only place I could think of where she would be safe - where I thought someone could do something for her!"

"It's all right," Ginny broke in. "She's just worried. We were surprised." She tried to lay a delicate hand on Draco's shoulder, but he shrugged her off.

"Just tell me I haven't done this for nothing," he insisted. "Tell me she'll be all right."

Madam Pomfrey looked up. "Rose is not in immediate physical danger," she asserted, and Draco let out a breath in relief. "But it would help my treatment if I knew precisely what spells had been cast on her."

He shook his head. "There were too many. I couldn't remember them all."

"Too many?" Hermione burst out, aghast. "How long did you stand there and watch?"

"What was I supposed to do?" he spat. "Fight them all? Join her in the circle as the next bit of entertainment? Then who would have been there to help her afterward?"

"So what did you do?" Hermione accused. "Did you cast any spells on her?"

He didn't answer that, turning instead to Madam Pomfrey. "You should know - she's been bitten. On the leg." He reached for her robes, then, after a nod from the matron, pulled the hem up to expose the ugly raw wound on her thigh.

"Dear Merlin," Minerva McGonagall breathed. "She's only a child."

"Greyback likes children," Draco said flatly. "He always has. He used to chase us when we were too young for wands..."

Ginny stared at him in horror.

"But he wasn't shifted, right?" asked Hermione. "So she'll be okay, mostly. Right?"

Pomfrey cleaned the bloody marks and lay her hand against Rose's clammy forehead. "I must ask you again - what happened to this girl? Anything you can tell me will help."

He tugged at his hair and stared silently at Ginny and Hermione. "I'll show you," he said at last. "If you've got a Pensieve."

"Of course," said McGonagall, and led him into Pomfrey's office.

Hermione gripped the rail at the end of the little girl's bed, her eyes fixed on the werewolf's bite. "First Bill, now Rose... I hope this isn't the start of something. If there's a rash of bites in human form..."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked. "Wouldn't it be worse if he were biting people as a wolf?"

"Worse for the victims, yes, but not worse for the other werewolves," Hermione explained. "It's hard enough for people to believe someone like Lupin could ever be trusted if he turns into a monster once a month. If people hear about this, they'll be certain he's a monster all the time. They'll lock him up and throw away the key."

"But," Ginny protested. "The Ministry has better things to do than chase werewolves. There's a war on!"

"And poor, tired Remus is a much easier target to arrest than the dangerous Dark Wizards. Scrimgeour would love to have something to show that he was protecting the public." Hermione sighed. "He's probably the only one they'd catch, too. The rest are already in hiding - or working with the Death Eaters."

The two older women returned to the room, Draco following behind them. He looked tired, but somehow relieved. McGonagall, however, wore a look of pinched disapproval, while Pomfrey only appeared determined. "I'll just pop her over to St Mungo's, then," she said. "Better for her to stay asleep for a bit. When she wakes up, we can see if there is any permanent mental damage."

"Mental damage?" Ginny asked.

"Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse," the nurse explained, and the girls flinched. "Followed by a memory alteration, which might prevent any harm, or might compound it. We'll have to see." She and her charge vanished with a crackle of magic.

Draco sank onto the rumpled white sheets of the bed, deflated. "It's just not fair," he said quietly. "She didn't deserve this."

"Nobody deserves that," Hermione argued.

"But Rose hadn't done anything wrong!" Draco insisted. "She was a pureblood."

"Oh, so it would be perfectly all right, then, if it was me they were torturing?" Hermione sniffed. "I guess I shouldn't expect anything more from you."

"At least then there would be a reason!" Draco fired back. "Cleansing Mudbloods is a policy. It's something you can believe in. What happened to Rose was just... stupid. A bunch of grown men acting like school bullies."

"You should know," Hermione snapped. "You're the biggest bully of them all! You've never had a problem casting curses and jinxes on us, and you want us to believe you're on our side now?"

"Don't be any more stupid than you have to be, Granger," Draco said. "I'm not on your side. I'm on my side. And as for bullying, I never jinxed you more than you jinxed me!"

"You started-"

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall interrupted. "In light of your personal history with Mister Malfoy, perhaps it would be better if you left us alone for a while."

Hermione sucked in a breath to argue, then slumped her shoulders. "You're right. I'm not ready to deal with him. I'll be in the library." She turned an apologetic look on Ginny. "And if it's this hard for me, it's going to be even harder for Harry."

---

"Bossy tart," Draco muttered as Hermione left the infirmary.

Ginny giggled. "Tart? Hermione?" she teased. "I've heard her called a lot of things, but not that." She was relieved to see Draco smirk at her words, and a little of the tension eased out of his shoulders.

"Will you be in danger at this point, Draco?" the headmistress asked. "If they consider you a defector, we may need to arrange a safehouse for you."

Draco shook his head. "You saw what happened. They didn't tell me where to go. If anyone asks, I can just say I went looking for them and got lost. There won't be any problem."

"If you return to them, you will end up in situations like this again," Minerva warned. "You will be forced to do things you may regret."

"I have no real choice," Draco shrugged, and flopped backwards onto the hospital bed. His skin color wasn't that much more healthy than Rose's had been, Ginny noted. He continued, "You need someone on the inside, don't you? If I hadn't been there, no one could have helped Rose. If I leave, no one can save my mother. You want the Dark Lord dead? So do I."

"It wasn't that long ago that you were supporting him," Ginny reminded gently. "How do you know he won't change your mind again?"

"I believed in a strong leader with a noble purpose," Draco said, closing his eyes. "He was going to usher in a new age of prosperity for the purebloods. I thought my father was his right-hand man. We were going to rule the world." He opened one eye to stare at Ginny. "Aren't you going to tell me how evil and wrong that was?"

"Would it do any good?"

"No. Not really." He closed his eyes again and continued. "But then he left my father to rot. He picks up a harmless little Hufflepuff and beats her up for no reason. He lets Grayback play with kids. And it turns out his real right hand is Snape, who isn't even pureblood, not that he ever told me. Has it all been lies?"

"You don't know?" Ginny asked quietly.

Draco's eyes snapped open just in time to catch McGonagall's shushing motion. "What don't I know?"

"Voldemort," Ginny said defiantly, "is a halfblood."

Draco gaped. "No. What? He's... he's the Heir of Slytherin! He's the purest of us all!"

"Only on one side. His dad was a Muggle."

"Fuck," Draco breathed. "No wonder he's so keen on Snape." His eyes closed again, angry tears growing in the corners. "Just... fuck."

"Draco," McGonagall broke in again. "I understand that you have had a difficult day. However, if, as you said, you intend to return to your position, you will need to leave soon. In the meantime, is there any information you can give us? Any plans you are aware of?"

"Not much," Draco said. "Snape's involved in some secret brewing project, but I can't figure out what he's making. It's no potion I've ever heard of. And I guess they need to make lots of it. Goyle's father was ordered to have his son help them buy more supplies."

"So that's what Goyle was doing with the perfumes!" Ginny said.

"Is young Mister Goyle officially a member now, then?" McGonagall asked.

"No. Not Crabbe either. I haven't seen anyone my age. They just do what their parents ask - they're not really part of it," Draco said.

"Well, then." Professor McGonagall gave Draco a hand up to his feet, then patted him on the shoulder. "You'd best be going. Let us know if you hear anything more, or if you need our help. We will always be here for you."

When Draco had left, Ginny turned back to Minerva. "Do you really believe him?"

The older witch was quiet for a moment. "As you know, a Pensieve is primarily a visual record. I am not skilled in Legilimency. I cannot read his thoughts. But a memory, a whole memory plucked from a mind, can't help but carry a bit of the emotional state with it. Our young Draco was honestly upset by what he witnessed, and came to us for aid. I think that's a strong beginning."

Ginny plucked at her robes and smiled.

---

Hermione was in one of her favorite places - the Hogwarts library. She was seated in the only truly comfortable chair, a deep blue seat with padded arms that was usually lost off in a corner but now, with the school empty, could be pulled up to a table. Books and old newspapers were piled in front of her. She was in her element.

And yet, she had to force herself to take deep, calming breaths.

What had gotten into her?

They needed Draco. They needed the information he could provide. And she, especially, needed him - he was her best link to Snape. If anyone knew where to find him now, it would be Draco. The last thing she wanted to do was make him angry and drive him away.

But seeing him standing there, the same horrible ferret-faced brat who had teased her and hexed her all the years she'd known him, hearing him say the word 'Mudblood' - it made her want nothing more than to break his nose.

How much harder must it have been for Severus Snape to work with Sirius Black? Draco had only harassed her - Sirius had tried to get Snape killed.

She'd just have to learn to control her feelings.

Right. Well. Back to work!

Wizarding obituaries were rather sad, Hermione thought. Wizarding photos were so personable. It was easy to get drawn into them, to wonder about the stories behind them - but here, you knew that the person in the picture smiling and nodding at you was dead and gone.

The first name she was researching was that of Caractacus Burke, co-founder of Borgin and Burke's. She found him eventually listed about eighteen years ago, stabbed in the back with a poisoned dagger from his own store. There was no mention of any investigation - the newspaper hinted darkly that the death was connected with the mysterious Death Eaters and left it at that. All his possessions, and his share in the store, were left to his daughter, one Rebekah Burke. No wife listed, so Hermione guessed that she had died previously.

So... Burke had been killed off by Voldemort and his followers. Perhaps Tom Riddle hadn't been entirely pleased with the way the man had treated his mother after all. If they could find this Rebekah, maybe she would know more.

Scanning the records, she found no sign of an obituary for a Rebekah Burke, so hopefully the woman was still alive. Locating her would take a bit more work - but it might be faster to ask around first.

Then, Hermione turned her attention to Eileen Snape. What had become of Snape's parents? His father, being a Muggle, might not be listed here, but...

There it was!

Eileen Prince Snape, died October 31, 1981. Survived by her son, Severus Snape. No sign of her husband there, so either he was, again, already dead, or they didn't consider a Muggle relative worth mentioning.

Wait a minute.

Halloween, 1981. Wasn't that the day...

... that Harry's parents died?

---

Draco knew it would be too much to ask to be allowed to slip back into his cupboard-bedroom unnoticed. He expected accusations, interrogations, perhaps another round of Crucio while he groveled and swore to respect the name of the Dark Lord.

What he hadn't expected was to find Snape leaning against his bedroom door, arms folded, and smiling.

"So," said Severus Snape. "What have you learned?"

---

Author's note:

Just another brief reminder that I am working without a beta-reader, and the more juggling balls I add to this act, the more likely it is that I will screw up somewhere and contradict myself occasionally. :) So if something doesn't make sense, feel free to ask about it. In most cases, it should be just that it hasn't been explained yet, but I may get things wrong that need fixing.

Of course, the fun of a story filled with spying, investigating, and double-agents is that even the characters don't always know when they're telling the truth! Some people's assumptions are completely wrong, and if they spread those incorrect ideas to others, everyone can be going off in the wrong direction. 


	12. Leashing Laws

Draco Malfoy was not at his best. He had spent a painful afternoon watching the torment of a helpless child and trying to control his own reactions to the sight. Then the miserable experience of hauling that child around, desperate not to splinch either of them, terrified that the Ministry would trace his not-entirely-licensed Apparition, and having to beg aid from a smug, bossy Mudblood who would clearly have enjoyed taking revenge for the girl's condition out on him. He'd had to relive the events and his own actions before the disapproving glare of his old professor, and then a Weasley, of all people, had driven him to tears with her revelations about the true nature of the Dark Lord. 

And now Snape was smiling at him.

Was it any wonder he was lost for words?

"You did take the girl to Hogwarts, did you not?" Snape continued.

Draco swallowed. "You - you wanted me to help her?"

A small frown gathered between Snape's brows. "Try to keep up. If she was meant to be killed, she would have been. The girl was to be used as an example, a reminder that the Dark Lord could strike at any target. She is therefore left alive and terrified, infinitely aware of her own helplessness. And you are delivered to Hogwarts, with the perfect proof of your defection."

He might be having a bad day, but Draco was not a fool. "That's why no one told me what to do. To set the scene."

Snape nodded. "I told you before - some things you would not be allowed to see, so that you could not report it. The reverse is true. Anything that is shown to you is done knowing that you may reveal it." He stepped away and opened the door behind him into Draco's cupboard. "We needed something to convince the Order that you were on their side, something that would hold up to scrutiny, and we could not risk having you disrupt any important operations at this point."

"It was all a fake."

Snape slapped his hand against the wall to command Draco's attention. "It served a purpose. Several purposes._ Planning_, Draco! You are no longer a schoolboy. Everything that you do must serve many masters. Your actions, your thoughts and feelings - they are all tools. Use them, or they will be used."

What response could there be that would not illustrate his point? "I see."

"You will have doubts," Snape continued. "You will come under strain. But you must hold these thoughts inside yourself. Trust no one. Unburden yourself to no one. Anyone who appears to be your friend could be spying on you as you spy on them. You must learn this, and quickly."

Rather than ask a question, Draco chose to sound confident, to make it a statement. "You have something planned for me soon."

"Not I," said Snape, twitching the hem of his long black robe away from a gathering of dust in a corner. "Your mother."

---

"The indexes are right over there," the curly-haired Muggle woman behind the desk said. "You can have a look for yourself."

The General Register Office was made up of ugly, low-ceilinged storeys stacked on top of each other. The overhead lights were a bit too yellow, the wall's painted trim a bit too brown, and the faint smell of old tea and boiled swede lurked in the hallways. For Hermione, it was a less welcoming place than her parents' dentistry had been, even in her worst childhood memories. What did Lupin make of this Muggle dreariness?

Hermione looked at the old paper file folders being flipped through by slow-fingered pensioners and decided she would rather not keep either of them here longer than necessary. "Could we - I mean, could you look it up for us?" she asked hopefully. "I could give you the information. I'm sure you'd able to find it much faster than we could."

"Well, then," the Muggle adjusted her glasses. "That'll be eight for the search, and ten for a copy of the certificate, love."

"Do we need a certificate?" Remus Lupin asked, looking worried - or perhaps that was only his natural expression. He had near-enough Muggle ancestry to wear the turtleneck and corduroy trousers without looking entirely mismatched, but there was still a sense of something out-of-place about him. Most Muggle men would have dyed their hair to hide the premature grey.

"All you'll find in there is a reference number," the woman explained. "If you want any information, you need the certificate."

"And that will tell us his address?"

"That will tell you where he died," she corrected. "May not be the same as where he lived. But that's the best I can do for you."

"All right." Hermione pulled some pound notes out of her pocket. "When should we come back for it? We're only in London for the afternoon."

"Usually we only do orders like this in the post, but I think I can get it done in the afternoon for such a sweet young thing like yourself," the woman smiled. "It's so nice to see a young girl taking an interest in geneology. And so sweet of your father to support you!"

"Er, right," Hermione said blushing. But then, Lupin was the same age as Harry's parents, so he was really old enough to be her father. She just didn't think of him that way. He was - not a peer, of course, but not like the Weasleys either.

They stepped out into the noise and murk of Muggle London after promising to return before five to pick up Tobias Snape's death certificate. Remus's nostrils flared at an unpleasant scent - this city was full of them, especially in summer, and Hermione suspected his sense of smell was better than hers was.

"Thanks for coming with me," Hermione began, leading the way towards a green square she remembered seeing on the way up. Not quite a park, but at least a nice place to sit and feed the pigeons. "I could have made it on my own, but I wouldn't want Harry to get any ideas about rushing off by himself."

Remus smiled tightly. "I may as well enjoy my freedom while I can. Soon I won't be able to go anywhere at all."

"Huh?" Hermione asked distractedly, pushing the button on a crossing signal. "What's - oh, no." Her thoughts suddenly caught up with themselves. "You mean, they are going to do something about the... unleashed pets?" she asked, trying not to say 'werewolves' on a busy street where anyone might hear her.

"You might as well say 'wild animals', since that's what they think they are," he sighed.

"But - wait, we have to get over." She grabbed Lupin's wrist and pulled him across the street beside her. Wizards tended to be careless about road safety, expecting that as with the Knight Bus, everything would just work itself out somehow or other. Well, he probably would be able to save them if a car came their way, but she'd rather not have to find out. "What will they do?" she asked quietly.

"'Protective custody', I believe," Remus said.

"They'll just lock you up?"

"For the children, it may actually be protection," Lupin sighed. "They'll be away from their families, who don't know how to deal with their problem, and away from the others who might try to claim them."

"But what about you? You're not dangerous!"

"Hermione, I am dangerous." He stopped on the pavement and turned to look at her, deep brown eyes full of sadness. "I left the school because I was dangerous to you."

"**Harry**'s dangerous to us. He could be possessed by You-Know-Who, or just snap one day and attack everybody - It could happen!" Hermione argued. "That doesn't mean we should lock him up."

"It's not our decision to make." They continued across another road into the square of greenery and sat on a small wooden bench. The pigeons made a tentative approach, but as soon as they got close to Lupin, they scattered, taking to the air and leaving the park to the wizards. "You see? They know what I am." Remus rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. "It's the Ministry. They've decided it's one risk factor too many. I just hope they hold out long enough for me to attend the wedding."

"But that's only a few days from now!" Hermione blinked. "Does Tonks know?"

"No. Not yet."

"Why not? She could do something - she could help you get away..."

"Run?" Remus asked. "If I run, who would be assigned to catch me? The Aurors. My girlfriend. Even if I didn't tell her where I was going, they would believe she knew. I can't let her be punished because of me."

"She could run away with you."

"Then you and Harry would lose us both. These are bad times. You need our help. We can't afford to be selfish." He stood, taking a few steps to lean against a tree. "And if we went on the run together - what would we do when the full moon rose?" He shook his head. "I can't risk that. I've lost so many people in my past. The only chance I have for the future is to accept this."

"It's just not fair," Hermione said stubbornly.

He sighed. "If life were fair, we would have James and Sirius with us now, instead of Severus and Peter. Nothing is fair."

Hermione rubbed her hands together, desperately wanting to find out more information but not wanting to cause more pain to this man, her friend, who seemed to have nothing but pain in his life these days. "You said... you and Snape were never friends. But you never... you never did anything bad to him yourself, did you?"

Remus was silent for long moments. "I can't say that I never did anything to him," he admitted at last. "We were schoolboys, and sometimes there were fights."

"But you didn't go out of your way to hurt him, right?" Hermione broke in quickly. Making Lupin feel guilty wasn't what she was after. "So if you weren't friends and you weren't his special enemy... if he didn't think you were important... why was he so interested in you that night? Interested enough to listen to Sirius, who was much more an enemy than you were?" This had been bothering her for a while. There were so many things they didn't know about the Marauders' school days, and so often their ideas had turned out to be completely wrong.

Lupin closed his eyes and tipped his head down, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Lily," he said at last. "It was because of Lily."

"I don't understand."

"The mother lion defending her cubs," he said. "Lily was like that. She always wanted to look after people. For a while, it was Severus she was defending. She even stood up to James over him. But Severus... he took it badly. His pride was hurt. He needed to prove that he wasn't weak, that he didn't need a Muggleborn girl to fight his battles for him, and so the fights only got worse. And after a while, Lily gave up on him. It wasn't worth the pain to try and help someone who wouldn't be helped - especially when there was someone else who did appreciate her sympathy."

"You," Hermione guessed where this was leading.

Remus nodded. "When she found out my secret, Lily became very supportive of me. Actually, I think it brought her closer to James as well. Before, she'd seen him mostly as an arrogant, trouble-making Quidditch player. Which he was, of course. But he was also a loyal friend with a good heart, who stood by me and helped me with my 'furry little problem'." His fists clenched. "They were both good people," he murmured. "They were so young. We had so little time, and I missed out on it..."

His voice began to choke up, and he turned away. Hermione sat, frozen. This wasn't what she wanted to know. But how could she stop him now?

"There was a month or so, there, when I thought I loved her," Lupin continued. "She was a girl, and she was beautiful, and she was nice to me even though she knew what I was. She couldn't change form and come with us, but she knew, and she wasn't afraid of me. We were just kids, we didn't know what love was. I realised what a fool I'd been, and I was glad I never told her. But I told Peter, and then James didn't believe me, didn't believe it didn't mean anything... he thought he couldn't trust me..."

His shoulders were shaking, and despite the difference in their ages, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for Hermione to slip up behind him and wrap her arms around him. He was so thin - too thin. She gave him a quick squeeze and released her grip. "You've got to talk to people," she insisted. "You should tell Tonks about what you're afraid of. So you don't miss out."

Remus was shaking again, but now she could hear quiet chuckles. "Ah, Hermione." He turned and gave her a proper hug, her cheek turned against his bony chest. "You're such a brave girl. I wish you could have known her."

It felt nice to be held. There was no embarassment, no awkward desire, no worry about what the other half wanted. Even Harry she couldn't have held like this. He would always have twitched away after a moment, full of the need to do something, even if it was the wrong thing. With Remus, she could just stand there, holding on.

They parted after a moment, smiling at each other. He trusts me, Hermione thought to herself. I'm not a child. I'm his friend. "Well," she said cheerily. "We've got plenty of time before we have to get back to the office. Let's see what we can find to look at in London. I'll buy you some crepes."

If this was going to be the end of Lupin's freedom, then Hermione was determined to make sure he enjoyed it. She hadn't spent much time in London since she was a little schoolgirl, but she still knew a few interesting sights and sounds to show off. Today would be a happy day. No more awkward questions.

Of course, she couldn't help but think a few of those awkward questions to herself. So Snape had been so curious about Lupin, curious enough to take foolish chances to find out the truth - because Lupin had gained Lily's sympathy?

That sounded a lot like jealousy.

---

"You wanted to see me, Mother?" Draco's appearance this day was neat and proper, all signs of trouble hidden. The dutiful son.

Narcissa placed her hands on his shoulders and smiled at him. "So strong and handsome. My perfect child. You were the most beautiful baby, you know. I told your father I didn't want another one. How could any other child match up to you, my shining dragon?"

"I'm sure any child you had would be a credit to our line," Draco said diplomatically.

"Our line," Narcissa repeated, and now she released him. "Our line is in jeopardy. I know that there are things that you must do, dangerous things. I would never try to hold you back. But I must act to preserve our line. You are my only child, the only pure child of Black."

"What are you proposing?"

"You must marry and father a pureblood child," Narcissa Malfoy said. "Immediately."

---

Hermione returned to the Gryffindor commons with Lupin and a photocopy of a faded death certificate for one Tobias Snape, died October 29, 1981. Two days before his wife. What that meant, if anything, neither of them knew. Many people had died or disappeared in Voldemort's final days. Whatever had become of the Snapes, Lupin had not heard about it at the time.

The certificate had also included an address - Spinner's End, in Yorkshire. There was no way to know if this was really the Snapes' old address, or whether it was still in use, and both Hermione and Lupin had agreed it was too late in the day to investigate it now.

Still, she felt it had been a good day. She had a good lead on Snape and more evidence for her theories about his past. She felt accomplished.

Which was why it knocked the wind out of her sails a bit when Ron's madly-grinning face appeared in the fire. "Hermione!" he crowed. "We got the locket!"

---

Author's Note:

While I did a **little** research into the subject of looking up deaths in England, I am mostly making things up. I could only find a tiny photo of the entrance of the GRO which made it look like the sort of horrible place I am describing, but I have no idea what it's actually like.

Coming up - Another encounter between Hermione and Snape, and this one will be lasting a good deal longer than just 'Stupefy'. :)


	13. Lioness Fallen

"You found the locket?" Hermione repeated numbly. 

"Come and see!" Ron beckoned.

Hermione and Remus looked at each other, took hands, and stepped into the Floo.

Arriving on the other end, Hermione was grateful for her grip on the older man, for without it she would have immediately stumbled over the brightly-colored objects rolling around the floor of the Burrow. They appeared to be a cross between toy snowmen and rogue bludgers; figures made out of balls that bounced and slammed against each other while they wobbled erratically around the room. One of them was engaged in furious battle with a foot belonging to Ginny, who was sitting at the table and kicking the toy. There hardly seemed enough room for them to roll around with all the people crammed into the room - the Delacours were nowhere in evidence but there were still a number of Weasleys. The noise, the motion, the crowding... it was all a bit much for Hermione. Apparently it bothered Lupin as well, for once she had steadied herself, he let go and slipped around the edges of the group to reach the next room - close enough to hear without being in the thick of things.

In the center of the throng, faces aglow, were Harry and Ron, neatly flanked by Fred and George. Harry was holding up a glittering, swinging object which she recognised as the object of their quest.

"The locket," Hermione confirmed. "Where did you get it?"

"Well," Fred began. "You mentioned Rebekah Burke - "

"- a charming and sophisticated woman - " George cut in.

"- who it happens that we met when we were making business arrangements." Fred continued. "Looking for advice on running a shop, and things like that."

"Which she was only too happy to provide over dinner with two such handsome gentlemen."

"George!" Molly scolded. "She's twice your age!"

"But there's two of us, Mum, so it evens out."

"Anyway," Harry continued for Ron and Hermione while the family chattered in the background. "The twins took us to meet her and explained that we were looking for the locket. It turns out she ran into Mundungus that day before he got to the store. She remembered the locket and bought it from him in memory of her father. Once she heard that I needed it to destroy her father's murderer," he smiled coldly, "she was happy to let me have it."

"So that's it, then," Hermione said. All that worry about how impossible it would be to find the thing and now here it was, showing up when her back was turned. "You went after it without me?"

"We called for you," Ron explained. "But you had already gone out."

"You shouldn't have gone out alone!"

"They weren't alone - " the twins started, but they didn't get very far.

Harry's eyes glittered as he tilted his head towards Hermione. His fist clenched around the locket's golden chain. "You. Are not. My mother."

"What?"

"You think I'm stupid, don't you?" Unusually for Harry, he was not screaming. "Stupid Harry, always trying to be a hero. Can't do anything without you to hold my hand."

"Of course I don't think that!"

"Here, lay off, mate," Ron murmured. "She's just surprised."

"Surprised that we did something without her and it worked," Harry snapped.

"Harry, I'm sorry..." Hermione started. She could feel her eyes starting to sting, and then Molly Weasley's warm hands were on her shoulders. But why wasn't Molly saying anything? Why wasn't anyone standing up for her? "I didn't mean to sound... I'm glad you got it!" She swallowed, forced a smiled onto her face. "Can I see it? I can start looking for spells to destroy..."

"I don't need your help! I can do it on my own!"

"Ron," Molly said firmly. "Why don't you and Harry go and have some tea with Remus?"

"Yes, mum," Ron replied dutifully. Harry glared briefly in Hermione's direction, but allowed himself to be led away.

Molly ran a hand soothingly over Hermione's hair. "Have a seat, dear. I'll get you some biscuits."

Feeling weak in the knees, Hermione took a place at the table next to Ginny. "What's going on?" she asked quietly. "Why is Harry being so... nasty?"

"It's all part of growing up," Molly sighed. "He's a young man now, almost an adult. He'll be of age at the end of the month. Some boys get carried away at times like this with the need to prove how manly they are," she shot a glance at the twins, who just smirked. "Teenagers often rebel against their parents, but poor Harry doesn't have any parents to rebel against. And now he's lost Albus as well. He's very angry and he doesn't have a good way to direct that anger."

"If he weren't dating our sister, I'd say he needed to get la-"

"Fred!" Molly rapped him gently on the head with a wooden spoon.

"Ha ha," Ginny rolled her eyes and swallowed her bite of biscuit. "Like I'd want to, anyway. Not with the way he's acting lately."

"You see, Hermione," George said, taking her hand in his, "you do sort of act like a parent to the boys sometimes. You remind them to do their homework, wash behind their ears, and try not to get themselves killed." He flashed her a sparkling smile. "You're very good at it, too. Ron's probably got the fewest hours logged in the infirmary of any Weasley!"

"Ahem?" Ginny pointed out.

"Any Weasley boy," Fred corrected. "Ginny has far too much sense. She'd stun the billisuggs before trying to reach into their hole. Where's the fun in that?"

Hermione had a quick mental image of Fred lying face down in the mud, arm stuck down a slimy 'sugg burrow, and managed to smile. "What about Percy?" she teased.

"Spent a whole summer down with the Purple Pestilence," George confided. "Nasty stuff. Spots and snot out of control, and all bright purple."

Molly took her own place at the table. "So you see, dear, why Harry has trouble dealing with you right now."

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry he's upset, but we don't have time for this! Can't you just tell him to let me have the locket so I can start working on it?"

Molly smiled. "It's better if I don't tell him anything. Harry has to make his own decisions. Let him come to you when he needs you. Don't force him. You'll both be happier that way."

"Agh!" Hermione growled. "I don't want to sit around and wait until Harry decides I'm allowed to help him!"

"Every mother bird has to let her babies out of the nest sometime," Molly sighed, with a wistful look at the twins. "No matter how much you want..."

"I'm NOT his mother!" Hermione snapped. "I'm his friend! I'm not going to sit at home knitting just because Harry needs a parent to blame for everything!"

"Careful," Fred said mildly. "He'll hear you."

Hermione stood, nearly knocking over her chair. "Thank you for the tea and biscuits," she managed stiffly. "I think I'll be leaving now. I see there's no place for me here."

And she made her way to the Floo, followed quickly by Ginny.

---

"Marry," Draco repeated. So that's who I'll need to keep secrets from, he thought. My **wife**. "How? Where? We can't have a proper ceremony - the Ministry would incarcerate everyone who attended. And where will I keep her? We're supposed to be in hiding."

"Separate apartments," Narcissa Malfoy explained. "A place will be arranged for your bride to live, where you can make regular visits. We will file the papers discreetly, and no one will notice. By the time the baby is due, hopefully matters will have settled and we will be able to return to our family estate with your young bride." She petted him absently. "This isn't what I would have wanted for my only son's wedding, but sometimes we must make sacrifices for the good of the family. You understand that, don't you, Draco?"

"Of course," he replied. Isn't that all I've been doing, Mother? Trying to take care of my family? "What does Pansy think?"

"Not Pansy," she said absently.

Not Pansy? But she liked Pansy. Everyone had always assumed that the two of them... Hadn't she been talking about marrying him to Pansy just the past week? "Why not?"

"Pansy Parkinson would have been an acceptable bride," Narcissa allowed. "She made a good match for you. Clever but not too clever, a good face except for that nose, a bit of spirit - and that was where we ran into problems. Violet Parkinson - whose hair color is not at all natural, you realise - would not hear of her daughter being involved in such a clandestine relationship."

Well, no, hiding out alone and waiting for the occasional visit from her husband the spy would not have appealed to Pansy. Nor could she keep a secret. Everyone in the Wizarding World would have heard her complaining about her living conditions before long. "Who, then? Not Millicent. Please."

"Of course not," Narcissa dismissed that name immediately. "What you need is a biddable wife. Someone who can take direction. Someone who will be grateful for a better marriage than she could have arranged otherwise, with her family's standing."

Poor but Pure, in other words. "Who have you selected?"

"Daphne Greengrass."

"Daphne? The mouse?" He could barely summon a mental image of the girl - hunched in a corner with light brown hair hanging over her face.

"You need a quiet girl now," Narcissa scolded. "The family is Irish and stretches back to some prominent druids, even if they have fallen on misfortune lately. Her grades are excellent, and her complexion is admirable. You represent a good opportunity for her." She took a few steps, her hands still folded together in front of her. "Please appreciate the work that everyone has done for you. This arrangement is complicated, but it is best for everyone."

"Of course, Mother." That was the thing about trying to restrain your emotions, Draco mused, it became difficult to argue with anything. Daphne Greengrass! You didn't even notice if she was in the room! Nothing at all like bold, sassy Pansy. And when Pansy teased him, it had always been with the knowledge that he would have her sooner or later. They had always been meant for each other. Now, so soon - how soon? "When were you planning to formalise this?"

"Three days from now should be enough to get everything in place."

In three days he would be a married man? "Will I see her before then?"

Narcissa fluttered a hand as if such details were entirely unimportant. "Speak to Severus if you wish. I don't know if you will have time. The fertility spells will be set at the ceremony, so there's no purpose in wasting your energy before that."

Draco couldn't help it - the corner of his mouth quirked just a little. Actually speaking to a girl he barely knew and hadn't seen since Snape dragged him away from the Tower that night - well, that would be a waste of energy, if her only purpose was to become the broodmare for a new Malfoy heir. Any further discussion with his mother would be an equal waste - she'd told him what part he had to play, and he would go along with it.

There didn't seem to be any point in resisting.

---

It wasn't until the next morning that Hermione remembered.

She'd spent the evening - well, sulking, really. Ginny had offered to break out the Firewhisky again, but after the last time Hermione wasn't certain that was such a good idea. A drunk depressed Ginny had been a surprising thing to handle - what would a drunk pissed-off Hermione be like? Better not to chance it.

Now here she was, in the gray light of a rainy morning, staring at Tobias Snape's death certificate, staring at the address. What would she find there? It sounded like a house, at least, not a hospital. If not Snape's home, then perhaps the home of a neighbor or family friend... Someone who knew him as a child? Someone who knew secrets no one else had guessed?

She shouldn't go.

She had to go.

She shouldn't go alone.

What other choice did she have?

Ginny didn't have an Apparition license. She didn't want to talk to anyone at the Burrow right now. Remus... well. She **could** call Remus. If he were here right now, she'd go with him. But she didn't want to call him. He'd already spent the previous day with her - if he was really about to lose his freedom, she shouldn't be monopolising his time. It would be rude.

Anyway, he knew about the address, he knew she wanted to go... if he'd thought she needed an escort, he should have shown up!

She was tired of being sensible.

Hermione pulled on her Muggle jeans under her robes and slipped quietly out across the Hogwarts grounds, heading for the edge of the anti-apparition wards. Once she had crossed the boundary, she slipped off the robe, transfiguring it into an open umbrella. The mechanical workings of a true umbrella were a bit complicated to get right, but as long as it was the right shape and held water off her head, who was going to notice?

In her rush, it hadn't even occurred to her that it might not be raining at her destination, Luckily - by some standards - the foul weather spread across enough of England that her umbrella was not out of place. As she shifted magically from one location to another, the gentle drizzle around Hogwarts was replaced with gloomy, heavy rain thunking wetly against her improvised cover.

She stood at the end of an old cobbled street, sloping downwards towards a small town. The district was clearly residential - a sign at the far end of the street might be advertising a tiny corner shop, or it might be just another For Rent notice. She could see several of those from here, some faded from long display. Water sloshed and gurgled through the stones and gutters. In the other direction, she could see an old mill looming over the buildings. There were no people and few signs of life in evidence - hardly surprising in this weather. Most of the windows she could see were blocked by shutters. One doorstep contained a hanging basket with a still-green plant inside of it - everything else within her view was painted in shades of dingy gray.

Hermione picked her way along the wet pavement, careful not to slip on the wet rags of decaying newsprint, to the door of the house that she suspected belonged to the Snapes. It looked much like its neighbors - cramped, narrow, out-of-date. No clear signs to show if someone did or didn't live there. She knocked on the door and waited. No answer.

After a quick glance up and down the street to be sure no one was looking, she pushed open the mail slot on the door and craned her head to try and peek inside. Only a tiny bit of floor was visible this way - fairly normal floor, not torn up or swarming with cockroaches. There didn't seem to be any lighting on in the entrance hall. And - yes, there was some junk mail scattered on the floor. But was there a name?

Straining her eyes until they hurt, Hermione thought she could **just** make out letters forming the name of Snape. Considering how long it took junk mail to catch up with the times, they might not have lived here in sixteen years - but they had been here!

"_Alohomora_," Hermione murmured, and pushed the front door open. She paused at the entrance to listen for any sounds of occupation. Nothing. She dropped the open umbrella beside the door and scooped up the fallen mail. As expected, it was only advertising, with postmarks ranging back over the past six months. Clearly, no one visited this house very often. There were no names on the letters besides 'Snape' and 'Occupant', though.

Hermione closed the door quietly behind her. "Lumos." The faint light of her wand illuminated a small sitting room. She could make out an old threadbare sofa facing a darkened fireplace and an armchair with a table and folding tea-tray beside it. A lamp swung from a chain on the ceiling. A small cabinet in the far corner appeared to hold a gramophone and a collection of records, but she did not go over to check.

She had seen the books.

Books! The walls were simply covered with them! Most of them looked heavy and old, leather-bound with titles in tiny gold lettering that was too painful to read by wandlight. Eagerly, Hermione waved her wand at the empty fireplace, causing a blue flame to blossom and burn there without fuel. She skipped from shelf to shelf, checking titles at random. Dickens... Shakespeare... Marvolio the Mad... It was primarily a Muggle book collection, but there were definitely wizardly titles mixed in with the mundane.

Did that mean...

... Snape still lived here?

Hermione looked around nervously. Nobody would collect all these books and just abandon them! But the room was dark and musty. The mail was uncollected. The house was neglected.

House? Where was the rest of it? She looked around again. There was only the one door to the outside. The room had no other exits? That couldn't be right. Where was the kitchen, the bedroom? Either this house was an elaborate deception, a fake home for receiving mail and nothing else, or the rest of it was being hidden from her - by magic?

She moved her wand in the form of a triangle, pausing at three points. "_Apparecium_!"

Nothing invisible suddenly became apparent.

Not invisible... but a portkey, a transfigured door, any number of things could be hidden without being invisible. She needed to check for signs of magic.

"_Specialis revelio_!"

Hermione threw a hand over her eyes as a blaze of light rippled through the room. Magic, spells upon spells, layered over the years, all rushed over her in an impenetrable blur. It took precious moments for her head and vision to clear. I should have brought an Auror with me, Hermione thought. Clearly that's **not** the right way to search a wizard's home.

Perhaps it was because she had just been thinking of Aurors and their methods of investigating dangerous magical criminals, perhaps it was just blind luck - but at that instant, Hermione became aware that someone had entered the room. Her wand was already in her hand - reflexively, wordlessly, she Shielded herself before even turning to look behind her.

It was Severus Snape.

There was the sense of something flickering through the air, but the spell, whatever it was, rebounded harmlessly off her shield charm.

"Better," Snape sneered. "You do learn. But there are some spells, Miss Granger, that a simple shield cannot-"

"Professor!" Hermione blurted quickly. "It's all right! I figured it out! I know you're on our side. I was looking for you. If you'll just come back with me, I can explain-" Her words were cut off as Snape made a quick upwards motion with his wand. A force, like an invisible hand, closed itself around her neck and pulled, stopping the air and lifting her onto the tips of her toes. The wand slipped from her fingers as, by instinct, she clawed at her neck, fighting to breathe, but there was nothing there to take hold of. Her eyes met Snape's, pleading for release.

"What do you know about me?" he whispered.

Images flashed behind her eyes. _The book, Property of the Half-Blood Prince. Waking up in Snape's office among the scattered papers. Sitting with Ginny, arguing with Harry and Ron in the fire. Talking to Lupin and Tonks in Hogsmeade. Lupin speaking tearfully about Lily, and Hermione reaching out to hold him._

Snape's booted foot reached out, kicked Hermione's wand away. "Blind, ignorant meddler!" he shouted. A flick of his wrist, and the invisible hand around Hermione's neck flung her aside, her head impacting painfully against one of the bookshelves. She stared at him in shock, blinking away tears. "Have you learned nothing - done nothing - to support Potter's foolish quest?"

_Slytherin's locket, dangling from Harry's hand..._

Remembering at last that Legilimency was enhanced by eye contact, Hermione looked away, frantically searching the floor for her wand. This was all going wrong. She had to make him stop, had to make him listen to her. If they could just talk things out...

"_Crucio_."

When she was very young, Hermione had needed to have a baby tooth removed that hadn't become loose yet. There had been all sorts of painkillers used before the pliers came out, of course, but there was no way to blunt the terrifying feeling of roots deep inside your body being torn and broken. And later, as the anesthetics began to wear off, there was the unspeakable pain working through her body, leaving her too weak to scream, too helpless to do anything more than bleed and cry.

For just a moment, that was what the Cruciatus felt like.

As the pain spiraled away, Hermione gasped for breath, dazed, her eyes no longer able to focus on the dark shadow that loomed over her. The only thought her mind could manage was _To cause that much pain... he had to really mean it..._

"Well, Miss Granger," the hateful voice taunted. "It seems I've finally found a way to keep you quiet."

Unable to protect her body, Hermione could only fight to protect her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look at him again.

"Killing you would cause too much trouble," Snape continued. "If you disappear, people will come looking. Instead, I'm going to teach you a lesson. One that, I trust, your vaunted brain is capable of understanding."

"_Evanesco_."

Eyes still tightly shut, Hermione could not understand at first why the room had become so much colder. It took long moments to process that he had caused something to disappear - her clothes.

"Keep your nose out of things that don't concern you," Snape hissed.

Sobbing quietly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and huddled on the floor, waiting for the next horrible thing to happen.

Nothing.

Silence.

Was it a trick? Was he just waiting for her to open her eyes so he could torture her again?

No! She wouldn't give in!

It was so quiet...

Minutes stretched endlessly while Hermione warred with herself, shaking with cold, fear, and exhausted pain. At last, she dared to raise her head.

The room was dark... and she was alone.

She rubbed her arms to warm them, noticing that at least her underthings - tame blue cotton - had remained. She felt sick and dizzy. There was no point in trying to find any clues here. She was in no shape to make sense of things - and if Snape had left anything of value here, it would certainly be booby-trapped. She crawled around the floor to find her wand, then made several fuzzy attempts before her discarded umbrella at last turned back into the original robe.

The cool summer rain soaked into her hair and skin as she staggered outside. She couldn't Apparate like this. She'd splinch herself for certain.

Why had it all gone so wrong?

No. Think about it later. Right now, she had to get somewhere safe, get some nice warm tea inside her, and center her thoughts enough to make the jump back home.

It was nearly noon when Hermione finally stumbled back into Hogwarts, weary to the bone and desperately wanting a long hot soak in the Prefects' Bath. But before she could get there, a frantic Ginny materialised at her elbow. "Where have you been?"

"Just out," Hermione mumbled.

"I couldn't find you!" Ginny wailed. "We've got to go, right away!"

"Go? Go where?"

"To St Mungo's! It's Ron - he's dying!"

---

Author's Note:

If you thought Severus was going to welcome Hermione's good intentions with open arms - what story have YOU been reading:)

Today is a very bad day to be Hermione.

Okay, so the H/S interaction was still fairly short, but next chapter, you'll get what you really wanted - Snape's perspective.


	14. The Nature of the Beast

Idiots. Every day of his life he was surrounded by idiots. Idiots and damn fool meddlers, which were almost the same thing. One of these days, he was going to break down and laugh right in the Dark Lord's face. He would be killed, of course, but even his death wouldn't erase the memory of being laughed at. Someone deep inside his mania, the Dark Lord would know he was a laughingstock. 

It would almost be worth it.

Really, how stupid could that girl be? Hermione Granger, "brightest witch her age" - completely incapable of thinking. So clever and insightful that she could "see" that he was working on the side of the Order and then decide to inform absolutely everyone of her brilliant idea. He did not intend to let his death be the result of a clumsy Muggleborn Gryffindor stumbling blindly around, trying to bestow her pity and understanding where it was thoroughly unwanted.

Rather like another girl, so many years ago...

They had met in detention, of course. There was no other way he would have spoken to a Gryffindor girl, particularly a pretty redhead who always seemed to be surrounded by lackeys. When he'd thought of Lily at all, he'd assumed she was another rich pureblood, like the popular girls in Slytherin. Someone who would look down on him just for the blood he'd been born with, if she knew the truth.

They'd been assigned to scrub out cauldrons, old Slughorn apologising to the girl for putting her to the trouble but explaining that he had to respond when students started setting each other on fire in the classroom. But since she was such a trustworthy student, he didn't need to supervise her, important places to be going and all that... He'd barely noticed Snape was in the room before he wandered off to have a drink.

Then Lily winked at him and made a face at the door where Slughorn had departed.

He'd ignored her at first. Once Slughorn was out of the way, Snape had magically scoured his allotment of cauldrons and set to examining the unguarded classroom for components he could use in his experiments.

He hadn't expected Lily to pay attention to what he was working on. He certainly hadn't expected her to make suggestions.

Pretty, popular, Pureblood (he thought), and actually intelligent as well? The perfect woman - and perfectly out of his reach.

"Severus Snape," she'd said at some point. "That's such an unusual name."

His pale cheeks had gone red. He'd been certain she'd guessed his secret - that Snape was not, after all, a wizarding name. It was something he kept hidden from his Slytherin dormmates, and yet... if there was any chance of anything, with this girl, it was better that she knew right away. "I'm half-blood," he blurted out. "I'm a Prince on my mother's side."

"A prince!" she laughed. "You're royalty?"

He had been confused. "No, of course not. We don't have royalty in the wizarding world..." Unless she knew something he didn't! "... do we?"

She laughed. "Well, I wouldn't know! I'm Muggleborn."

"You're what?" How could that be? She had so many friends! "Do your dormmates know?"

"Of course they know." Lily gave him a funny look. "Don't tell me you hate Muggles. I know a lot of Slytherins are like that. Well, Gryffindors aren't!" She folded her arms and glared at him. "It would be pretty stupid of you to hate Muggles if you're half one anyway."

"I don't hate Muggles!" he insisted. "But nobody knows about me in Slytherin. They'd be horrid if they did." He shot her a look. "You won't tell, will you?"

"Don't be silly," she teased. "When would I ever talk to a smelly old Slytherin?" She pinched her nose and made faces at him.

It was silly, it was childish, it was... a relief, compared to the burden of dealing with his fellow snakes all the time. He smiled back at her.

"A Prince," she mused quietly. "I think it sounds romantic. The Half-Blood Prince."

It was their little joke, and the foundation of their brief friendship. He was the Prince, and she was the Flower. He'd even written the phrase on the back of the potions book they shared in their secret study sessions.

But those sessions had been forced to remain secret.

Her dormmates knew she was Muggleborn, Lily had said. He simply couldn't be seen associating with her, not with times the way they were. Maybe someday it would be safe. Maybe if he married her and she took his name, no one would realise.

Maybe never happened.

He lost track of Lily for a while after events had driven them apart. There was no sense crying over spilt milk, and once it was clear that a plan had gone wrong, you had to discard it and try something else. It wasn't until after _**the incident**_ that he noticed - the girl was hanging around with the animal. Lupin. A disgusting beast that should never have been allowed to attend Hogwarts, should have been locked up in Azkaban for life after what had happened...

That day in the Headmaster's office, Lupin couldn't even speak through his pathetic blubbering. He'd begged Severus to forgive him, begged the Headmaster to show mercy. Black and Potter had been thoroughly unrepentant, while Peter mostly hid behind the other boys and stared at Severus. Snape had been nearly apopleptic with rage. They had tried to **KILL** him! How could Dumbledore possibly take their side? They should all** HANG** by their **THUMBS**! And yet Dumbledore had been so "impressed" with James Potter for "taking responsibility" by backing out of the act at the last minute that he'd let them off with nothing but a warning! And the Gryffindors had gone off actually **SUPPORTING** their bestial pet, fondling him and telling him it would be all right...

Then to find Lily joining their little club, transferring her unwanted protectiveness from him to Lupin, the pathetic animal that clearly thrived on pity... well. She clearly wasn't such a perfect girl after all.

Long years of teaching at Hogwarts had produced many similar disappointments. Snape had long since given up on the thought of romance. His life had no room for love. But a companion, someone to talk to, someone who could understand just a little of the life he had led... He harassed the students mercilessly, hoping for one, just one, to rise above the challenge, to blossom into a true mind.

But students remained students. Their interests, their torments, were petty. Meaningless. After the Dark Lord's defeat, they all acted as if the world were perfect and carefree. Year after year, they stared at him blankly and melted their cauldrons and felt each other up in the hallways and scattered before his disapproving gaze. They were NOTHING.

In those ten terrible years, he had been forced to consider the backstabbing, hypocritical, twinkly-eyed old fool Albus Dumbledore the closest thing he had to a friend. At least he understood what it meant to choose the lesser evil - to make decisions whose cost could never be counted.

Then Potter Junior arrived at Hogwarts, and the world began to change again.

In Draco Malfoy, of all people, he had almost found the protege he'd sought for so long. The boy had been a slow learner. He'd come from a ridiculously spoiled upbringing. He preferred whining over plotting. He received privileges and thought they were nothing more than he deserved. He wasn't willing to work.

Clearly, his problem had been a lack of sufficient motivation.

The more Snape piled on the stress, the more he impressed the boy with the need to juggle alliances and play a deadly game with multiple masters, the more Draco appeared to be **thinking**. He was still a novice, but he was learning. If he survived the year to come, he might finally be able to appreciate the unique misery of Snape's existence. Or he might turn out to be the imperfect weapon that spelled Snape's downfall.

What would be, would be.

Where did the young Malfoy believe Snape's true allegiance lay? Or Draco's own? He could not be sure. The boy, at least, had the sense not to blurt out his theories and accusations for everyone to hear. It meant that neither of them could truly trust each other - but neither could they truly betray each other.

It was a relationship that no meddling Muggleborn could hope to understand.

What had that girl been thinking, arriving alone and unprotected on his doorstep? Perhaps she thought he would be **grateful** for her "understanding". Perhaps she thought he would cry in her arms, like that despicable werewolf. Hermione Granger was an endless puzzle of mediocrity. How could anyone read and absorb so much from books, and yet be so completely unable to take the next step to truly understanding things on her own?

Idiots and meddlers, all.

---

It was all too horribly familiar.

Hermione stumbled along at Ginny's side, the halls of St Mungo's a blur around her.

Why did Ron keep getting himself into these fixes?

She hadn't been there last time, either. When Ron had drunk the poisoned mead, she'd only learned after the fact how very ill he'd been. Harry's quick thinking (he wasn't a total idiot, just stubborn as anything) had saved him then, but she hadn't really dared to believe that he was all right until she could see it for herself. This time - it didn't sound like he was going to be all right.

She burst into a cluster of Weasleys huddled before a closed door and grabbed for Harry's hand. "What's going on? What happened to Ron?"

Harry's face was pale and his eyes were red with vanished tears. "The locket," he murmured quietly. "I should have known... there were so many deadly traps in the way already, I should have guessed it had one last trick to play..."

"What did it do?" Hermione asked. "We couldn't even get it open last year."

Harry shrugged. "We didn't know it was Slytherin's then. So I thought, maybe it was like the Chamber. And I asked it to open..."

"... in Parseltongue," Hermione concluded. "Harry, that was brilliant!" She would have thought of it too, of course, she thought to herself. But Harry needed cheering.

Harry nodded miserably. "The locket sprung open, and Ron went to pick it up to see what was inside. But as soon as he touched it, it slammed shut on his finger. I got it back open, but his hand was bleeding... It bit him. His hand started to turn black..."

"What happened to the locket?"

"The mediwizards have it. They're trying to see if they can figure out what the curse is, to know how to counter it." Harry's face screwed up like he was trying not to burst into tears again. "It was my fault. I was an ass to you. You wouldn't have let this happen."

Hermione tried to smile, though it was hard with the shaky feeling inside. "How could I have stopped him? You said it yourself - Ron reached for the locket. He wasn't thinking. It wasn't your fault. And he's going to be all right, isn't he?"

No one spoke.

"But we're here with all the doctors... healers," Hermione corrected her slip. "They took care of Katie!"

"After several months in hospital," Ginny said glumly.

At last the door swung open and a red-robed witch appeared. "We have managed to stop the curse from progressing," she explained. "However, we won't be able to reverse the effects until a batch of mandrake can be prepared. The patient is sleeping, but if you would like to see him, you may come in two at a time."

Of course, Ron's parents went first, and came out crying and holding each other.

Harry and Hermione went in together. Ron was lying asleep in bed, his face pale, most of his body hidden under the sheets, except for...

"Oh, Merlin," Harry whispered. "His wand arm."

Ron's arm, to the elbow, had been turned to black stone.

---

Author's Note:

Yes, this is honestly my best theory as to the origin of the term. No pureblood-mad Death Eater Slytherin is going to go around calling himself the half-blood ANYTHING. Riddle hid it. Snape hid it. He might have been happy that he was half a Prince, but he wouldn't logically have invented a title like that. It's nothing to be proud of, unless there's a secret prophecy about the House of Prince that we haven't yet heard. It just sounds SILLY.

So who **would** think that Prince was an awfully cool name and tag it on him like a royal title? A Muggleborn.

And why did Snape call himself that in front of Harry? Just to make Harry mad. NOT because he's been secretly going around calling himself the Half Blood Prince in his head all these years. Unless there's some hidden prophetic reason for that to be a proud title, it's just DUMB for him to actually be calling himself that. :)

Also, you may notice Snape's version of events differs slightly from Lupin's. It's been a long time, people remember things differently, and they're all guessing at other people's motives anyway.


	15. Less Than Perfect

Ron, of course, had refused to stay in St. Mungo's any longer than necessary. 

Most especially, he was adamant that he was NOT having hospital food for dinner.

The medical staff had to admit that there was little they could do for him at the present time. A mandrake solution wouldn't be ready for at least a month, and until then, Ron was stuck with a stone arm. While certainly unpleasant, having an arm made of stone wasn't a condition that required constant care, and if their diagnosis was correct, he was in no further danger from the curse that had bitten him. However, they didn't want him too far from competent medical help, just in case unknown side effects surfaced.

Therefore, it was decided that Ron would spend the night at Hogwarts, with Madam Pomfrey on call if anything went wrong. If nothing unusual had manifested by noon, he would be allowed to return home and attend the wedding the next day. Harry, not wanting to let his friend too far out of his sight, would also be staying over at the school, while Ginny was taking advantage of the two boys being out to steal a night's sleep in her own house, if not her own bed.

For this one night, then, it was Harry, Ron, and Hermione, together again.

Since Ron couldn't manage utensils at the moment, the house elves had been asked to serve up a meal entirely of finger foods. They had apparently decided to make each small offering strange and different from all the others. A platter of baby quiches and crackers with exotic cheeses was followed by small sandwiches and filled teacakes for dessert. No two of anything were alike, and everything was too small to properly have a taste and then offer it to anyone else. Ron said it reminded him of having a whole meal of Every Flavor Beans, except safer, since the elves wouldn't dare serve motor oil flavored quiche. For Hermione, it brought back memories of parties thrown by Muggle adults.

Harry had reclaimed Slytherin's locket from the concerned mediwizards. Held inside the golden leaves had been a small portrait of the young Tom Riddle - no, the young Voldemort, for already this depiction seemed less human than the version Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets - smiling colding and refusing to answer any questions. Harry had focused his rage and called upon the strongest fire spell he could manage, reducing the face to ashes. After that, the attending wizards proclaimed that the locket seemed to be free of the curse. The horcrux was vanquished.

Despite those assurances, nobody but Harry was keen to touch the golden object that now dangled from his grasp. It swayed lazily back and forth, sparkling in the firelight, and Harry stared at it as if mesmerised. "Maybe I should put Ginny's picture in here," he mused.

Ron snorted. "Don't think she'd be best pleased, you sticking her face in that evil mouth!"

"But think how much Voldemort would hate it!" Harry pointed out. "His precious evil heirloom, his Slytherin birthright, turned into nothing but a love token."

"It should probably go to a museum," Hermione suggested. "It is a historical artifact, after all." She brightened. "We can probably fill a whole room with famous artifacts once the war's over. Not just the Horcruxes. Anything you use to defeat Voldemort will become valuable to the ages! They could devote a whole wing to you."

"Just as long as they don't try to put **me** on exhibit," Harry sighed.

"Nah, you'll be too busy being an Auror," Ron predicted, then thumped his stone arm against the sturdy wooden table. "Me, I'll probably be stuck sweeping the museum floor, if I can figure out how to move a broom with one hand."

"Your arm's going to be fine!" Hermione said. "I had my whole body Petrified, and I'm fine now."

"They called it petrified, but you weren't turned into proper stone, were you?" Ron said gloomily. "I stuck my hand right into a curse from the worst wizard ever! And they never managed to fix Dumbledore's hand, did they?"

Harry frowned. "No. They never did."

Ron shrugged. "There you go, then. I'm doomed."

Hermione threw a bit of leftover cracker at him. "Harry's the only one allowed to go around talking about how doomed he is," she teased. "I can't put up with two of you doing it!" She glanced at Harry, worried for a moment that she might set off another of his rages. To her relief, he just smiled. He must have gotten the anger out of his system for now.

Ron waved his stiff black appendage around for emphasis. "Even if they do fix this, what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I can't hold a wand like this!"

"Use your other hand, doofus!"

Harry cleared his throat. "Actually, we should probably all practice casting off-handed. In the heat of battle, if someone damages your good hand, it might be better to switch hands and continue fighting rather than try to fix the injury right away." He eyed the blackened fist. "Also, if you punched somebody in the gut with that, I bet it would hurt. And they wouldn't be expecting it."

"Or I could aim a little bit lower," Ron suggested with a smirk. "Like to see Malfoy's face then! But I bet he'd wear a jeweled codpiece or something."

"Draco's father is in Azkaban," Hermione pointed out.

"Who says I meant his father?"

"Ron!" she scolded. "That's not funny. Anyway, Draco's helping us now, remember?"

"I remember. I'm still not sure I believe it," Harry said. "Besides, you can't deny there were times you would have liked to see Malfoy rolling around on the floor grabbing his crotch and crying."

"I don't like to see anyone crying," Hermione countered.

"Not even Snape?" Harry murmured under his breath, then blinked. "Hermione, you're going all colors. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she insisted.

He stared at her. "Where were you this morning, anyway? Ginny was frantic when she couldn't find you."

Hermione sighed. "I did something stupid. I was mad at you about last night, so I went off on my own to try and prove how clever I was. It was dumb and I won't do it again and I don't really want to talk about it. Okay?"

"I guess we all learned a lesson about doing stupid things," Harry said slowly.

"So now we should do something smart." Hermione stood from the table and grabbed the boys to pull them up. "Come on, let's go to the Charms room. We can start with _Windgardium Leviosa_."

---

Since it had already been a long and trying day, it was decided that the off-handed casting excercises for the night should stay short and simple. Just to get comfortable with the idea of using the other hand, not to do any complex magic or combat exercises. Hermione also kept a careful eye on Ron to be sure that working magic didn't affect his stoned arm in any way. As far as she could tell, the curse remained inert.

Only after they had called it a night and returned, weary but relieved, to the Gryffindor common room, did the obvious occur to Hermione. They were three teenagers of mixed sex, and they were almost entirely unchaperoned.

Harry seemed to be a step ahead of her on that account. "I'm **so** tired!" he said, yawning dramatically. "I think I'm going to go up to the boy's dorm **early**. Ron should be in the infimary by **midnight**, and I'll see you in the morning!" He scampered up the stairs before Hermione could manage to say a word.

"Um," she managed at last, her cheeks turning red. "You must be tired, too. You're just out of the hospital."

"Yeah," Ron said, taking a seat on a couch. "I'm wounded in battle!" He turned big blue eyes on her with a smile. "Sit with me?"

She slipped onto the couch beside him. "Does it hurt?"

"Not really," he said, holding out his stony arm. "It just feels heavy. You can touch it if you want."

She carefully stroked along the smooth black length with her fingertips. "It's cooler than I thought it would be," she said. "And sort of glassy. Can you feel it when I do this?"

"Nope. I - eeek!" Her hand had just reached his elbow, where the rock gave way to flesh. "That part I can feel! It's all tingly around there, where they stopped the magic. Mostly I can ignore it, but it tickles if you touch!"

She took her hand away. "Sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't be daft, Hermione," Ron smiled. "You'd never hurt me." His good hand came up to brush the stray hair away from her face before he leaned in for a kiss. It was warm and sweet and wonderful, but as he began to press against her, Hermione felt not the leaping fire of her drunken clinch with Ginny, but a vague tremble of fear. She pulled back, and Ron broke off the kiss. "What's wrong?"

"I just - I just don't feel right," Hermione said, unable to meet his eyes. She couldn't tell him she'd kissed his sister. She certainly couldn't tell him that earlier that same day she'd been half-naked in front of her old Potions teacher.

"It's because of my arm, isn't it?" Ron's voice was sad. "I'm a freak. I can't even hold you. Can't raise a fork, can't dress myself... I'm like some kind of horrible troll."

"No, of course not!" Hermione said, looking up. "Ron - Muggle children break their arms all the time! And they end up with a stiff heavy cast covering the whole arm for months til it heals. It's just the same. You're hurt, but you'll get better."

"Then what is it?" He stroked her cheek with his good hand. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. I..." He paused, swallowed hard, then continued. "Hermione Granger, I love you. I just want to be with you."

His eyes, his sweet sad eyes... Ron needed her. He loved her. And time and time again, she'd nearly lost him. There would be more curses, more dangers, and one of these days they might not find a cure in time. This wasn't perfect, but this was what they had.

With three good hands, it was easy enough to remove their clothing.

---

Author's note: Sorry for the long delay! I've been busy with other things and ended up writing this chapter fairly quickly to get back into the swing of it.

Hermione still hasn't had time to really think through what happened at Spinner's End - it's been a rough day!


	16. Potions Assignments

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she wasn't entirely certain where she was. Following that long and stressful day, she had tumbled into an exhausted sleep in the Gryffindor dormitory, carried away by dreams of dark forests and magical beasts. A giant black panther had snarled and spat until she approached, hands outstretched, promising to calm it with her song. The great cat had allowed her to stroke its velvety fur, to feel the sensuous movement of its muscles under her hands, and then suddenly it struck at her with its enormous paws, driving her body into a network of spiderwebs. And she'd struggled, trapped in the sticky strands, knowing that a dark predator was moving up behind her. 

So it was understandable that when she found herself tangled in blankets and something grabbing her ankle, her first reaction was to kick and scream.

"It's only me!" Ginny exclaimed, backing away from the bed in a hurry.

"Huh?" Hermione sat up. Recognising her friend, she blushed and batted furiously at her hair, which was clustered around her head in a pillow-flattened cloud.

"Throw something on and come downstairs," Ginny advised. "The boys are going back home, but they wanted to see you before they go."

"They're going back to the Burrow?" Hermione repeated. "Ron's doing all right, then?"

"Oh, Ron's fine," Ginny said, and raised a red eyebrow. "I'm sure **you** know all about that. Don't you?" The younger girl darted out of the room after that, leaving her flustered friend to try and gather her thoughts and her clothing.

Hermione pulled on her robes and stared into a small mirror, turning from side to side. Did she look normal? Could anyone tell?

Biting her lip, she had to admit that it didn't matter what she looked like. Everybody knew anyway.

She hurried downstairs to hug both Harry and Ron farewell. It was hard to look Ron in the eye with everyone watching, but the hustle of last-minute preparations was distracting enough to keep them moving. Since Madam Pomfrey had verified that Ron's condition was stable, he would be returning to his family and helping to get everything ready for tomorrow's ceremony. Then, after the wedding, the three of them would be descending upon the Dursleys, to remain through Harry's birthday. As soon as he came of age, Harry planned to visit Godric's Hollow, and from there - who could know?

And so, as she waved goodbye to her friends for the day, Hermione was very aware that this could be it - the end of her solo research time. Of course, she would still be able to slip away to the library if she needed to. But if she was supposed to be staying with Harry, she would need to tell them where and why she needed to go, which would make it more difficult to look into things he would rather she didn't.

The boys were transported magically away, and Hermione turned, distracted, to gather her notes - only to meet an unexpected obstacle. A small redhaired obstacle, brown eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Tell me **everything**," Ginny demanded.

"Everything about what?"

"You and Ron!" Ginny shoved at her friend's arm impatiently. "You **did** it, didn't you? What was it like?"

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped. "I - You can't ask me things like that! He's your brother!"

"So what?" Ginny scoffed. "I'm not asking for pictures! I just..." She sighed. "I've got lots of brothers, but I don't have an older sister. And none of my friends in my year have done anything more than I have. Everybody gossips, but nobody **knows**."

"Oh," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "So - this is research."

"You could say that," Ginny shrugged, flopping into one of the comfortable common room chairs - not, Hermione was relieved to see, the couch where things had begun the previous night. "So spill! Was it as amazing as people say? Did you see stars?"

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "It was all sort of confusing."

Ginny smirked. "Ron muffed it up, didn't he?"

"How would I know?" Hermione pointed out. "I don't have anything to compare it to!" She rubbed her hands together. "He didn't hurt me. He was very careful. And I suppose it was... pleasant. Mostly, it just all felt so strange!" She pondered, trying to view the experience objectively. Ginny deserved to know. "It was sort of like being under the Imperius," she said, remembering her fourth-year classes with the false Moody. "You're not entirely sure why you're doing what you're doing, but things happen and it makes you feel nice..."

"Ew!" Ginny protested, shaking her head. "Please, don't make me think of sex as evil mind control. That'll put me off for life." She paused, looking at her friend, who was now staring at her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled. "There's just... something I'm trying to think of." Suddenly her face paled. "Control. Oh, NO."

"What?" Ginny asked. "You don't honestly believe my brother put the Imperius curse on you, do you?"

"**Birth** control!" Hermione explained. "I don't - we didn't - I don't even know what witches use!"

Ginny's eyes widened. "But you only did it once! And it was the first time, so surely you can't..."

Hermione shook her head frantically. "No wonder your family is so big! Once is enough, if you're unlucky."

Ginny blinked a few times, shifting in her seat. "Madam Pomfrey would know," she suggested. "I could ask - I wouldn't have to tell her why I was asking."

"With how quickly you and Harry and everybody seemed to know what was going on?" Hermione sighed. "No. I'll just have to look it up. There's bound to be a potion for it. There's a potion for everything."

---

The basement laboratory had been cleaned of its earlier spills and mishaps, but a greasy smoke now hung in the confined space. Draco was not certain if the oily residue in the air were leftover from a previous experiment, or the normal state of the product now stewing in the strange, oversized cauldron in the center of the room. It was a flat-bottomed cylinder, entirely the wrong shape for a proper wizarding cauldron, and the gray metal it was made of was not silver, despite its brilliant gleam.

Severus Snape, today, appeared his old self again - the familiar Potions Master with his stringy hair and his sly smile. He handed Draco a wooden paddle, three feet long with a well-worn handle. "Counter-clockwise. Slow, steady motion. Don't hit the sides or the bottom, just keep the liquid moving."

The fluid inside the strange metal drum was a sickly dark gray, with tendrils of green weaving through it. It moved thickly, heavy against the paddle, but once he got the motion started it was easy for Draco to keep it going.

Snape, in the meantime, was carefully cutting open seed pods with a silver knife, and collecting the shimmering spheres in a glass saucer. He stood and peered into the swirling fluid. "Steady," he repeated, then began to add ingredients one at a time, alternating between the gleaming seeds and a pinch of shredded sulfur-yellow flower petals.

When his hands were empty, he turned his attention to Draco. "Sixteen circles at that speed, then slow it until you can reverse direction smoothly. Do not splash." He moved around the room, storing unused components. "Well, Draco? What am I brewing?"

He did not allow his concentration or his arm movements to falter. "Moon-barley pearls cut with silver and petals of wolfsbane? I expect it has something to do with werewolves."

"Very good," the older man said, sweeping the wolfsbane stems from the table. "Continue."

---

Compared to brewing Polyjuice Potion, the Pennyroyal Preservative was laughably simple. The recipe was not listed in any of the standard school textbooks - wouldn't want the students getting any ideas! - but it was easy to find in the library medical texts. The practise had been refined and passed from witch to witch over the centuries, resulting in a tea that even a Squib could manage.

Hermione was able to locate all of the ingredients in the empty Potions classroom without difficulty. It didn't even taste bad. Rather minty.

Once she had ingested the potion, she felt a little more relaxed. At least one impetuous decision shouldn't cause her any further harm.

Pausing beside Snape's - Slughorn's - desk, Hermione reflected that brewing an illicit substance in an unattended laboratory didn't feel the same without the fear of the Great Bat looming up out of the shadows. But then, she hadn't been afraid of him yesterday - and he had come anyway.

She spared a quick glance at the doors, just in case.

No one.

With a sigh, Hermione sank into the professorial chair.

Snape. Bloody Snape. That cold-hearted _**bastard**_.

And to think she'd actually tried to defend him!

He was a monster, plain and simple. He hadn't even given her a chance to explain. He violated her mind, he hurt her and **enjoyed** it, he'd removed her clothing for no reason at all... was he some kind of pervert? He had to be, didn't he? He'd been part of that dreadful attack on little Rose! Perhaps she should be counting her blessings he hadn't done anything worse!

It was ridiculous. She'd gone into that awful old house trying to help him. If he'd just taken the time to speak with her, she would have... gone along with almost anything he suggested.

Hermione frowned.

She was there to help. He had to know that - she'd managed to say that much, and he'd surely gotten proof from her mind that she meant it. She had been on his side. Why had he attacked her? Even if he was just an evil, twisted man... he could easily have sent her off on a wild goose chase, used her to lure her friends into a trap. He could have killed her. Despite what he'd said, killing Hermione wouldn't really get him into any more trouble than killing Dumbledore had.

So, once again, Snape's actions made no sense. If he was on their side, why wouldn't he talk to her? If he was on the other side, why hadn't he used her, or killed her? He'd hurt her, he'd frightened and humiliated her... just enough, as he'd said, to 'teach her a lesson'. And nothing more.

Hermione planted her elbows on the potions desk, her chin in her hands, and thought. What had Snape actually said to her? _Meddler. Keep your nose out._

Everything he'd done had been intended, quite openly, to make her stop following him. To scare her badly enough that she would go away and not come back. Well, she was scared. Her first encounter with Snape had earned her a painless stunning. The second had been a lot worse. At this rate, the third time was going to leave her with permanent damage.

But why? 'Help me!' or 'Forgive me!' or 'Die!' - she could understand if he asked for these things. But 'Go away and leave me alone'? How could that be all he wanted from her? He didn't deserve to be left alone. He was far too much a part of everything. He had answers - he was, perhaps, the only one who had any answers. If he was trying to keep her away, was that just more of a clue that he knew something important?

"I'm missing something," Hermione said out loud. "I'm tired."

She stood, tidied the desk, and left the potions classroom, heading upstairs to find Ginny. But the figure rushing across the Great Hall to meet her was not the redhaired girl.

"I have to talk to you," said Draco Malfoy. "It's about Snape."

---

Author's Note: Some people were a bit displeased by the Ron/Hermione content last chapter. Hey, it's not my fault they're dating at this point in canon! Under the circumstances, it was fairly inevitable that he'd get her into bed at some point. I am not a big fan of Ron/Hermione - I don't think they're suited for the long-term. But in the short term, my Ron is a **good guy**. She may leave him, but not because he turns overnight into Mister Evil just to make things easier. :)

No pairing is guaranteed to remain untouched! (I am often quite tempted to pair Hermione with Remus just because I never see anyone do it well...)


	17. OneWayGlass

The young blond crossing the Great Hall of Hogwarts had changed since the last time the girls had seen him. That frantic evening in the infirmary, he had been wearing the robes, if not the mask, of a Death Eater. He'd looked exhausted and miserable - had even been pressed to tears. It was the same as the stories Harry had told of the encounter in the bathroom, or the horrible night on the tower - a Draco sad and frightened and out of his depth. 

This Draco was a different matter. He appeared once more a young gentleman, dressed in a fine grey coat with attached half-cape that would not have been entirely out of place in either the wizarding or muggle worlds. His hair hung loosely, not quite long enough yet for a ponytail. And his expression was now less that of a frightened little boy and more of a determined young man.

"I have to talk to you," he'd said as he hurried into Hermione's range of vision. "It's about Snape."

"Draco?" Hermione blinked.

Another set of footsteps clattered rapidly into the Hall. "What do you know about Snape?" Ginny demanded as she ran up to them. "Do you know where he is?"

Draco scoffed. "The old kilt didn't tell you? I'm living with him. And no, I'm **not** going to tell you where. You've always hated him - I can't trust you not to do anything stupid."

"Not 'always'-" Hermione began to protest. Then suddenly, realization slapped her across the face.

_Draco didn't know about Snape._

He had no way to know that Snape had been an ally of the Order; that he had been respected, if not absolutely trusted, by most of those on Dumbledore's side. Trusted by just about everyone except Harry, really. But Harry was the loudest and most visible of them, and he hated Snape - the whole student body knew that. And Snape had never made any effort to repair that antagonistic relationship, even seemed to enjoy tormenting Harry. Draco must have thought what any outsider would think - that Severus Snape and Harry Potter were mortal enemies, prevented from killing each other only by the headmaster and the rules of civil behavior.

That was Snape's cover. It was what people were meant to see.

Draco didn't know. He couldn't have known in the past, and now... If Snape was on their side and Draco was truly on Voldemort's, then of course he couldn't tell Draco the truth. And if Snape was Voldemort's follower and Draco was on theirs... or what if they were both... or what if Snape just didn't trust ANYONE anymore... Hermione's head spun with the possible permutations.

What did the world think of Severus Snape now? Everyone thought he was a monster, a horrible murderer. Absolutely and incontrovertibly Voldemort's follower. Everyone except Hermione. Even the people she kept trying to tell didn't believe her... so she kept stirring things up, and continuing to try and convince others that she was right.

No wonder Snape had tried to throttle her!

Hermione realised that both Ginny and Draco were staring at her, as she'd trailed off in mid-sentence. "I couldn't always have hated him, because... because he was a professor," she explained feebly. "I couldn't hate a professor, it's not proper!" A beat. "Except Umbridge. But she wasn't a good professor anyway." They were still staring. "Um..."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Okay, enough babbling. What was it you needed to tell us?" she asked Draco.

"There's some sort of plan involving werewolves," Draco explained. "Not Fenrir's gang, the ones the Ministry knows about. They're going to be rounded up or something."

"Protective custody," Hermione nodded. "We already know."

"**I **don't!" Ginny argued, but her friend waved a shushing hand at her.

"Anyway, Snape's working on a large brewing project at the moment. Really large, like he has to serve potions to a lot of people and they all have to be ready at the same time. I don't know what the potion is, but there's wolfsbane and moon pearls in it, and he practically said it had something to do with werewolves." Draco spread his hands. "It's not the standard Wolfsbane potion, I know that much. And I can guess it all has to be ready in time for the full moon."

"Is it the same potion you were talking about before?" Ginny asked.

Draco shook his head. "No, I think this is the real brewing project they talked about at the gatherings. His secret project earlier was entirely different. He worked on it for a long time, but I think it turned out to be a failure. He only made one batch that I saw, and he was very angry about it. It was probably some kind of experiment. This new potion doesn't look anything like it."

"What was this experimental potion like?" Hermione wondered. "What happened when he used it?" If it had been related, the failure might tell them something about what the new potion was meant to do.

"A thick green oil," Draco related. "I worked out most of the ingredients, but I couldn't find a recipe. Sage, mandrake, henbane, nightshade... very strong. I don't know what it was supposed to do, but I heard him yelling that someone wouldn't answer, and then smashing things."

Hermione began to laugh, first quietly, then bending over, clutching her stomach.

Ginny and Draco stared at her, then at each other. "Has she always been mad?" he asked. "Forgive her, she didn't sleep well last night," Ginny answered, and the two of them shared a smile. Just as quickly, they both seemed to realise who they were smiling back, and turned their eyes away.

Hermione couldn't stop laughing. It was all so obvious! Witching Oil! One of the few magics that had trickled through into Muggle culture... and perhaps it was only Muggle culture, with no real wizarding equivalent, and that was why Snape's attempt hadn't worked. An ointment designed to help the user see and speak to spirits - Snape must have been trying to contact Dumbledore! But it was all a secret. No one could know. She'd have to think of a lie. Clearly, she needed more practise in that.

Hermione straightened, brushing tears from her eyes. "Sorry. Just - Snape! On drugs! It's a very funny thought..."

"Drugs?"

"Those herbs. Those are really powerful hallucinogens, right?" She forced another giggle. "Snape, chasing little colored mushrooms like Gargamel... Sorry, it's a Muggle joke, you wouldn't understand." She watched as, yet again, Ginny and Draco traded glances and shrugged.

"Anyway," Draco continued. "I just wanted to let you know that there was something going on with the werewolves, and that I probably won't be able to come by with any more information for a while."

"Why, what's going on?" Ginny asked. "Are you being sent off on a secret mission?"

He shook his head. "I have family commitments."

She smiled. "What a coincidence. So do I."

---

After Draco had repeated his warnings to Professor McGonagall and gone on his way, Ginny turned on Hermione. "What's this about the werewolves? Who's rounding them up? Why didn't you tell me?"

"The ministry wants to register them and lock them up over the full moon for everyone's safety, supposedly," Hermione explained. "Remus told me about it. I wasn't keeping it a secret from you - I didn't know that you didn't know. I mean, your father works for the Ministry and all."

"What about Tonks? She didn't mention anything like that!"

"She doesn't know. Remus didn't want her to find out. That's probably why he didn't tell you, either - you'd tell her. And if she finds out, she'll try to fight it and get herself into trouble, and he doesn't want that." Hermione sank into a chair. "It's complicated keeping secrets and trying to figure out who's supposed to know what."

"Then why not just tell the truth?" Ginny stamped her foot on the floor. "Men are all the same! They all try to keep secrets from you to 'protect' you, like you've got no brain of your own. I thought Remus was better than that. If anything's going to happen to him, she deserves to know about it! Otherwise, what good is their relationship?" She shook her head, red hair flying everywhere. "He's protecting himself, not her. He's just too scared to face the truth."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Sometimes the truth isn't simple and doesn't help anybody."

Ginny looked at her. "Are you feeling okay? You've been acting a little strange. Did you find that potion you were after? Maybe you ought to lie down."

"Maybe so." She didn't want to lie down. She wanted to work, to research, to solve puzzles - but everything had gone so topsy-turvy in the past few days. If she was right, if Snape was furious with her because she was endangering his cover... how could she ever regain his trust? He clearly didn't WANT her to trust him, he wanted her to stay away from him and help the boys find the Horcruxes. He'd practically said so. But he knew so much more than they did. How could she just ignore that?

Ginny patted her on the shoulder. "Get some rest. It's going to be a big day tomorrow. We'll all need to look our best for the wedding."

---

Author's note:

Actually, Draco does know that Snape was a double-agent in the past. But he doesn't know that Ginny and Hermione knew! He doesn't know any details about it at all. As Hermione is starting to realise, guessing who knows what is very complicated business!

Sorry that not much is happening, and it's happening very slowly, but I'm busy working on other things. So I pick this up every few weeks or so, frantically dash off a scene and publish it immediately, then forget about it again.


	18. That Blessed Arrangement

The glade was filled with flower petals. They floated, loose, through the air, swirling on gentle breezes that were never enough to disrupt the guests. Whenever a batch began to clump together, or looked likely to settle onto a surface, Gabrielle would murmur and flick her wand, sending them back to their airy dance. As the designated flower girl, she was, for the day, exempt from controls on Underage Magic. 

Fleur was, of course, absolutely radiant. She wore an enormous ballgown of white and pale blue that, with all its layers and ruffles, looked to Hermione more like a wedding cake than the **actual** wizarding cake did. The various bits of silken drapery were pinned up by little silver bats, and a circlet of pinks and lavenders sat over her long blond hair. A trio of fairies charmed for the occasion flew about her head, surrounding her in a constant magical glow.

If the scars on Bill's face were paining him, his smile didn't show it. He wore a shirt of dark green silk, fastened down the front with golden dragons, and a half-length black velvet cape. His pants, also black, fit nicely to the athletic lines of his legs, and appeared to have a slight sheen to them - Hermione wondered if it was a kind of leather. His boots, of course, were dragonhide. His hair was pulled back in its traditional ponytail, but ornamented with jade, and the circlet on his head was made of purple bellflowers.

They stood together, holding hands, in front of an elderly wizard - a Ministry official of some sort, friend of Arthur Weasley - who was reciting long oaths and strictures from a scroll, pausing occasionally to let the bride and groom affirm their acceptance of the marriage. Each such interruption was met with great cheers from the crowd. Hermione had never seen a wizarding marriage ceremony before and wasn't sure how much longer all this would go on.

Still, it was a lovely occasion. The weather was perfect, the flowers were lovely, the crowds of Weasleys and Delacours and goblins from Gringotts and other onlookers were mixing happily...

But Ron, at her right, kept awkwardly bumping his stony arm into her side. Ginny wouldn't stand anywhere near them and seemed to be dividing her attention between glaring at Harry and glaring at Remus Lupin... who was standing beside Tonks but not touching her. Tonks' smile looked strained, and her hair was a limp, mousy brown.

There were a great many guests, including members of the Order (and Rebekah Burke, who was apparently being escorted by both Fred and George), but Hermione found herself wishing a few more students could have been there as well. It was a family matter, of course, not a school function, but it would have been nice to spend time with friends like Neville and Luna instead of leaving Dumbledore's funeral as the last time they were all together.

And she could see Rufus Scrimgeour posing on the outskirts of the gathering with a gaggle of Ministry staff. She hoped the man wouldn't make yet another attempt at swaying Harry to his will. The newlyweds didn't deserve to have an altercation ruining their day.

---

When Draco had envisioned his wedding, he had expected a lavish affair, an Event that would disrupt business as usual for all of wizarding Britain, as anyone who was anyone would have to attend. This clandestine huddle in the dim light of an unused Muggle chapel bore no resemblance to a proper Malfoy wedding.

But then, it wasn't exactly a Malfoy wedding.

The only witnesses were family - the Greengrasses, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange - and Wormtail, lurking in the background like a foul odor. Bellatrix had also taken the presiding role, reading out the customary vows with a manic cackle.

Daphne, the bride, wore a black gown trimmed with lace, and a pointed witch's hat with a veil falling around its brim, obscuring her features. If he hadn't spoken with her beforehand, Draco might have worried that someone was trying to pass off a ringer.

There had been a bad moment just before the ceremony when Daphne and Draco were called on to sign the Ministry certificate. Apparently no one had seen fit to inform the girl that her married name was to be Daphne Malfoy-Snape.

What would Lucius think, when he was finally freed? Would he accept the measures his family had been forced to take to ensure their survival? Or would he decide that the Malfoy name needed a new heir?

As the pointless recitation came to an end, it was finally time to remove the veil and kiss the bride.

Draco swept away the fall of translucent black and stared into Daphne's face.

It was the first time he'd seen her so close.

Even now, he couldn't tell what color her eyes were. Pale flecks of blue, brown, and green swam across a nebulous gray backdrop, red-rimmed and fringed with pale lashes that clumped together, damp with tears. Her skin was without flaw - creamy, pale and bloodless from her awkward ears to her trembling lips. Her fine, limp hair was fair, but too dull to be called blonde. There was nothing actively ugly about her, but there was nothing for Draco could fix on as truly appealing, either.

And this was to be the mother of his children.

If he didn't kiss her quickly, she was probably going to cry again.

Family meant sacrifice. Draco put a hand on her slender waist - no problems there - and pulled her into his embrace.

---

The light from the hallway illuminated a silhouette in creamy satin, standing motionless at his bedroom door.

"If there is nothing more you need, then good night," spoke a voice from the darkness.

"Severus," she breathed, her voice low. "What about your needs?"

"Good night, Narcissa," he repeated, with a bit more snap to his voice.

She took a single step across the carpet. "My son is married at last, and I am grateful. But I am not here because I am grateful." Another step. "Severus - Draco is the most precious thing in my life. But this, securing his future, our future... This was the most I could do for him. I have given him everything I can. He must be a man now."

"Narcissa..." The voice was impatient.

"That leaves you," she continued. "You, Severus Snape, are the second most precious thing in my life. You are the key to our survival, you... you saved my son. And you are my husband. You don't love me and I don't love you, but that doesn't mean we can't comfort one another."

And there was silence.

---

Author's note: Remember, if you want to support a starving artist, buy my work at Hanako Games:) And I'll try not to let the story die...


	19. Frayed

All things considered, it didn't go too badly with the Dursleys.

Vernon and Petunia were not exactly happy to see Harry, and less happy to see that he had friends in tow who were also demanding accomodation. But once it was understood that Harry would be remaining for the weeks until he came of age and then never again... they could see it was for the best. So, for the last time, Harry had his old room. Hermione was shoved into what was meant to be the sewing room, although it was uncertain whether Petunia Dursley had actually done any sewing there, and Ron ended up in the attic, which suited him perfectly, as it meant that he had plenty of Muggle rubbish to examine to tell his father about.

The real fly in the ointment was Dudley. The blond lump had been spending the past year in and out of trouble, and was currently threatened with imprisonment if he were seen in public without parental supervision. One bored, destructive teenager trapped in the house was enough trouble - add in a cousin he despised and it could have been open war. However, desperate to keep her son in the house and out of jail, Petunia had spent a fortune on the latest Muggle video games. In Hermione's opinion, it was the best idea the woman had ever had. She managed to persuade Harry to exchange a few coins from his vault and send her off to buy similar equipment for him and Ron. And so it was that the future savior of the Wizarding World would spend the weeks before his seventeenth birthday playing Final Fantasy VII. Maybe it would be inspirational.

As for why it had been Hermione who bought the games... that was the detail that, even now, set her apart from her friends. Until Harry and Ron took (and passed!) the test in a few weeks, she was the only one with an Apparition license.

What would happen if they didn't pass? Apparate anyway, and hope the Ministry had better things to do than tracking them? Travel only by broom at night? Send her ahead to scout locations and then have the boys fly in?

Where would they even go, when it came time to begin that journey?

Something would happen to show them the way. It always did.

Harry didn't seem worried.

Harry never had been very good at planning ahead.

Hermione loved both her friends, but it really was irritating to feel like the only adult in the bunch. Harry had become more 'serious' - in the sense of recognising that a lot was at stake and failure would have terrible consequences. But more wise? Not really. As for Ron... there had been an awkward moment where he'd suggested she could stay in the attic with him. The Dursleys couldn't really have stopped them from doing anything they wanted to. The only thing stopping Hermione was Hermione. And Ron, while he might not have been able to put it in so many words, was perfectly capable of realising that.

What was it about Ron?

She loved him, of course. She'd always known it under the surface of things. Even when she was dancing with Viktor Krum, she had been thinking of Ron, wanting him to see her beautiful and successful and desired by others. He could make her laugh - sometimes, she admitted to herself, she really was too serious. He could argue with her without actually hating her. He had a temper, but it wasn't nearly as scary as Harry's. Ron could never be scary. He could drive her crazy by ignoring her or blathering about sport or wasting his time with stupid girls like Lavender, but he would never, ever hurt her.

So why did she suddenly feel like holding back?

Maybe Harry had been right to set Ginny aside - there was no room for romance now. She couldn't enjoy herself with Ron when she was worrying about Horcruxes and Unforgiveables. He would understand that... wouldn't he?

Anyway. The boys had their games to play, and Hermione did not want to mother them, and that was why she was finding other places to be.

The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had acted right on schedule, collecting all known werewolves into 'protective custody'. Many adults, of course, had managed to flee and were still being hunted by Aurors. The children and 'obedient' adults, like Lupin, had been ushered to a facility that reminded Hermione of a Muggle holiday camp, except that the whole area was enclosed in a silver chain-link fence. Each 'guest' had their own room - two to a cabin for the children, but the adults were allowed more privacy. There was a large library, an excellent cafeteria, a swimming pool, setups for various wizarding sports (not Quidditch, though, as that would need too much airspace to fence)... Visitors were allowed, but with precautions: comings and goings were recorded at the front gate, and only the staff were allowed wands inside the camp. The staff tended to be of the Burly Matron sort, healthy individuals with more muscle than magic and a forceful cheer that bullied their 'guests' from one activity to another.

Sitting on a bench with Remus in the sunlight and watching the children play was a lovely and peaceful scene, except for the diamond-patterned shadows that covered everything.

It was a far cry from Azkaban, but it was still a prison.

They weren't talking much this afternoon. Both of them had other things on their minds. Actually, Remus hadn't been very talkative since his incarceration. Hermione wondered if Tonks had forgiven him enough to visit him yet. Love, she mused, really sucked.

"The first full moon is tomorrow night," Remus remarked at last. "Everyone's first chance to see what they really think of us."

"What will they do?" Hermione wondered. "Clear out all the staff so you can run around inside the fence?"

He shook his head. "We're all going to be given potions and locked in our rooms. They're afraid we might damage property otherwise. Or fight each other."

"Wolfsbane for everyone? Isn't that expensive?"

A thin smile crossed his tired face. "This whole camp is expensive."

"But... if they could afford to give everyone Wolfsbane..." Hermione frowned. That potion was rare and hard to come by. Lupin had been grateful to Snape for providing it for him, implying he couldn't have gotten it on his own. "Why didn't they just make the potion available cheaply instead of locking everyone up?"

Remus shook his shaggy head. "The Ministry has its own priorities. A publically visible solution like this makes it clear that they are Doing Something about the werewolf problem. After all, if they just let us buy the potion, they couldn't guarantee we'd drink it. Now we have no choice - they can watch and pour it down our throats if we refuse."

"Something having to do with werewolves..." Hermione muttered under her breath. "A giant batch of potions." Her face suddenly went gray. "Oh, Merlin. Snape tried to warn us. He made absolutely certain Draco found out and came to let us know."

Remus blinked. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione brushed back her hair. "Voldemort had Snape mixing up some huge mess of potions - Draco had to help him stir. Draco didn't recognise it, but it reminded him of Wolfsbane. What if they're making a poison and disguising it as your treatment?" She clutched at his arm. "You can't drink it! You mustn't!"

He lay a gentle hand over hers. "Are you sure you're not jumping to conclusions? The Ministry is not in league with Voldemort. They have their own potion suppliers. It's more likely that whatever Snape was making was for their own werewolves. And that's if - well, neither Snape nor Draco is the most trustworthy source of information." He squeezed her fingers. "Hermione - I don't have a choice about drinking what the Ministry gives me. If we tried to resist, things would go very badly for us. And that could be the point. If we panic, if we try to fight, that could be all the proof they need that we are dangerous beasts, not people."

Hermione bit her lip. Couldn't he see? He'd said it himself - it would have been so EASY for Snape to poison his Wolfsbane all those months, and he'd never done it. Couldn't he trust? And couldn't he see that Snape was no doubt trying to avert disaster? He'd made a point of sending that message through Draco - even Draco thought it was odd how deliberate the information was! What other reason could there be? Even cold-hearted Severus Snape wouldn't want to be responsible for the murders of a camp filled with children...

Or was she misjudging again?

She couldn't argue with Remus. She couldn't pour out all the guesses and connections she'd been building - not when she'd finally understood that her loose tongue was part of the problem. But she couldn't let this happen, either.

"You're going to be locked in your room anyway," she whispered at last. "I'm going to try to find out what's going on. But if I can't stop it, if I can't get back to you - look at the potion they give you. You've drunk it many times. If you have even the slightest doubt about it, don't drink it. Find some way not to drink it. Please."

Remus' kind brown eyes stared into hers. At last, he smiled. Leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Thank you."

Slightly flustered, Hermione said her farewells and rushed out of the camp, reclaiming her wand. Only one day - would that be enough time to find out the truth about the potions? If they were poisoned, was there anything she could do to stop it?

And how could she get a message to Severus Snape? 


End file.
